They'll Be Peace
by Englandwouldfall
Summary: It's six months since the car crash that killed their father, two months since the bank robbery he didn't mean intervene in and about thirty seconds since Sam last bugged him about his feelings. There's the bills, the three jobs, the joke of his college attendance and keeping Sammy fooled by his game face. And then there's Castiel, who's gonna be a frigging terrible bartender.
1. Chapter 1

He's been itching to put the whole damn place in his review mirror for weeks, but Sammy's always wanted to settle down and stay put and that's something Dean can actually do. He can't bring back either of their parents, or get Sam a car, or guarantee Sammy's college fund (but damnit he's gonna try), but he can quit uprooting him every few weeks. He can guarantee that tiny slither of stability, which is more than his brother's ever had before.

So, they've been back in Kansas for nearly six months – which is way longer than they've stayed anywhere since Sammy _was_ six months old – and, whilst it's near Bobby and Ellen and Sam's happy and settled, Dean spends half his life wanting to hit something.

Not that Sammy knows about that. He's hiding how perturbing he finds the lack of movement from his little brother with tight smiles and the usual mildly-inappropriate jokes. Sam's near delirious over being in town long enough to join the mathletes and all the other stupid clubs he's been salivating over since Dean got them an apartment, so he hasn't noticed that Dean's probably drinking a little too much and not sleeping as well as he could. That's how it should be, though, because Sam's just a kid and he's had plenty of crap to deal with as of late.

"I'm just saying, Dean," Sam says, directing a slight bitch face at the burger and fries Dean picked up on his way back from work, before apparently deciding it's not a battle worth fighting. "Maybe you try _talking _about it."

It's about bloody typical that his little brother is the only fifteen year old who'd rather eat salad shakes and vegetables than real food, but that's an argument for just about every other day. Today, it seems, they've got a scheduled stop-trying-to-be-my-therapist-Sammy-argument, which is one of Dean's least favourite from the arsenal.

"What d'you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean complains, pushing Sam's plate towards him, "I kicked ass. It's done."

"Come on, Dean –"

"– quit busting my ass," Dean interjects, picking one of his fries from his plates with a half grin, "I'll tell Bobby you're being a little bitch."

"Jerk."

"Eat your damn burger, Sammy."

"_Sam," _Sam corrects, reluctantly reaching for his own burger. Dean's just about to breathe a sigh of relief over another successful deferral of that conversation, which his girly-little-brother just can't wait to have, when Sam pauses and sends him the puppy eyes. Jesus. "If you wanna talk about it, Dean, you know –"

" – yeah, I know," Dean grins, "you're itching for a slumber party. I get it. I'm fine. There's nothing to say. I'm covering Jo's shift tonight."

"What?" Sam asks, face falling into irritation. "_Again_?"

"Jo asked," Dean returns, but that's only half true and doesn't temper the guilt. He doesn't much like leaving Sam alone in the evenings, but if he picks up a couple of extra shifts and does Bobby a few favours, he might just be able to get Sammy a car for his sixteenth birthday.

"Well, I thought we could watch a movie or something," Sam says, glancing back at their television with a damn near pout. Boy looks so crestfallen Dean's half tempted to call in sick, but Ellen's known him since birth and can tell when he's faking and Jo might actually kill him for ditching out on the favour.

"Do your homework," Dean bites back, "we'll hang out tomorrow night, Sammy."

"What about your homework?"

"Christ, Sam," Dean complains.

"You said you'd _try," _Sam says, bitch face reinstated, "you promised me you'd _try."_

The whole thing is stupid.

Right before the car crash, Dad went on some weird kick where he seemed to regret drinking away their college funds and not really caring when Dean dropped out of high school, and started insisting that Dean should be going to college. Post-crash, Sam – who hadn't had a civil conversation with Dad in years – suddenly decided to take his word as law, near insisting that Dean enrol to do _something _at the community collegethe minute they'd settled.

"I'm _trying," _Dean says, "I still don't see the damn point, but I'm going to the damn classes –"

"– some of them," Sam says, "_Some _of them. And you've only read half your course books."

"Well, I'm busy,"

"Yeah," Sam says, "working double shifts at the Roadhouse, and the diner, and Bobby's when you promised me you'd _try _in school."

Sam doesn't know all that much about the crap load of medical bills. He doesn't know that Dean is trying to scrap together the money to buy a car. He doesn't know that Dean is near killing himself over working so damn hard because Sam's got to go to a good college or Dean will have failed him… and he's not going to know, because Sammy's a damn fifteen year old kid who has enough to deal with without realising how tight money is.

Anyway, it's partially Dean's fault. If he'd gotten a job right after the car crash, instead of wasting weeks rebuilding the Impala in Bobby's back yard (and taking a crow bar to it, just once), they'd be a bit more financially stable. Then, course, Dean had to get a job to prove to the authorities that he was more than capable of taking care of his kid brother… and now he'd got that sorted and settled, it was just a matter of picking up extra shifts and working his arse off till they had some savings again.

So, Dean would rather take the nagging about college, which he _will _study for shortly – for Sam – but first he needs to sort out Sam's car. Then, he'll do the other stuff.

"You're washing up," Dean says, standing up, "if you can reach the sink, short ass."

"I'm fifteen, Dean."

"Freaking baby. Can't way for you to grow the hell up," Dean says, but it's not really all that true because he's astounded at how quickly Sam's gotten old. It sort of sucks, because most fifteen year olds shouldn't have to deal with everything Sam's dealt with, but Dean still remembers that remarkable moment when Sam first started talking back, when he first started asking questions, when he first started complaining. He remembers with painful clarity the first time Sam ran away and it's terrifying that Sam's probably old enough to cut and run properly now. "And go to bed early, it's a school night."

He reminds himself daily that Sam promised him – in one of those stupid emotional chats in the wake of their Dad's deaths, when Sam talked and talked whilst Dean pretended not to be crying underneath the Impala – that he wasn't going to. Sam wasn't running.

"I hope Ellen keeps you till closing,"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean grins and reached for his keys.

Things had been bad for a couple of years. The last few months trying to balance Dad and Sammy had been awful and he didn't have much good to say for the past few years, except that for some of the time they were all together. Maybe that wasn't enough for them, but it had been enough for Dean, and now that was gone.

But, Sam was happy. Things had become more settled than Dean was comfortable with, but it was good for Sammy. They'd gotten to a state of normality Dean wouldn't have thought was possible.

Maybe, just maybe, he could cope with sticking around a little longer.

ooo

Ellen warns him ten minutes after he's arrived that there's a new guy starting tonight, which is pretty weird; Ellen's a stickler for keeping it in the family, so most of the people who work at the Roadhouse are some extension of a family friend, or a second cousin, or an ex-regular in need of a job.

_New _around the Roadhouse is a tad unprecedented.

"Sam all right?"

"Bitching about his lonely soul," Dean returns, setting up shop around the bar, "guess I can't blame the kid for missing me. I'm pretty awesome."

Ellen smirks.

"If this new guys any good you can clock off," Ellen says, passing him a beer, "get back to being a helicopter parent."

"Who's the guy anyway?"

"Castiel Novak," Ellen says, "student at the university."

"Broke as fuck?" Dean asks. Ellen's a bleeding heart with a mothering instinct, so he's not really surprised that she might fall for a broke student begging for a job; she lets him work despite her 'best instincts' telling her Dean should be busting his ass over college, not bartending. When he asks for extra shifts she gives them to him even if it means she's overstaffed, but Dean tends not to mention it. If it was just his pride involved, it'd be different, but it's _Sammy _he's gotta think about.

"Seems it," Ellen says, "walks in all desperate blue eyes and, well, you can tell the kids been through some crap. Said I'd try him out. You got customers, Dean, go remind me why I'm paying you."

"It's my pretty face and charm," Dean says, winking at one of the new customers. Ellen slaps the upside of his arm with an eye roll, before she disappears out back to go over some financial crap with Ash. Dean spends the next twenty minutes flirting with the blonde and getting a suitable tip for his efforts, before she disappears to go join her friends at her table.

It's a slow night, which means Dean's got plenty of time to get bored and tired. It's all right when he's in motion, serving tables and drinks and chatting up chicks, but when he stops the tiredness seems to seep through from his bones. That's when all the thoughts come back; about the lack of money, about college, about Sammy, and Dad, and sometimes even his Mom, and then the bank robbery and –

The door opens and a guy walks in that Dean doesn't recognise. Internally, he's explaining how much Dean has noticed the guy – because, yeah, he's staring – because of how obviously he doesn't fit in here. The Roadhouse's usual clientele are the slightly hardened seen-to-much types. He's used to seeing men wearing leather jackets and pissed off expressions. There's no trouble actually in the Roadhouse, because Ellen just wouldn't stand for it, but they're the kind of people who aren't really strangers to the concept.

And this guy's wearing a freaking _trench coat w_hich, by the way, he keeps on as he walks purposefully towards the bar.

"You ordering a drink?" Dean asks, doubtful, as the guy _stares _at him. Trenchcoat doesn't answer, but keeps staring, which stirs up something uncomfortable in Dean's gut.

The whole_ thing_ happened two months ago and he would have thought people might have gotten over it by now. Yeah, his picture was plastered over all the local press (and a couple of national newspapers) and they keep saying he saved a bunch of people's lives, but now the perks have worn off Dean can't stand the staring.

He ripped the newspaper cutting (the one where Dean was described as 'heroic' and 'patriotic' much to the amusement of Sam, Ellen and Jo) off from behind the bar a month after it had been placed there and the others got the hint to just _not mention it. _Except Sammy, of course, who's still desperate to be his personal therapist._ Maybe if you just talked about it, Dean._

"You want to take a picture, Trenchcoat?" Dean asks, voice unnecessarily aggressive.

The man doesn't even blink.

It's then, Dean registers the blue eyes.

"Why would I –?"

"– Winchester here made the papers a few months back," Ellen says, stepping back into the bar, "and now he's paranoid and moody. This is Castiel, Dean,"

He doesn't look like he's been through crap to Dean. He looks like every other rich-boy student and that kinda pisses him off. They all have that knack of acting broke without understanding what it's like to not be able to buy food. It's probably because he hates feeling inferior and the college types always seem to oppose inferiority on him. Basically, Castiel Novak looks like a dick.

"Don't look much like bar material,"

"Which is why you're showing him the ropes," Ellen says.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says, and his voice is rough and deep and _not _what Dean was expecting at all. The fact that his voice is gravelly and all kinds of bad ass doesn't change the fact that he's the last person Dean really wants to be dealing with, but Ellen's already abandoning him.

"You know how to pull a pint?"

"I understand the logistics."

"Right," Dean says, "the logistics. Well, let's see that in practice, then."

"It is not a complicated process," Castiel says, serious as anything.

So, naturally, it takes four attempts to produce something that Dean would consider drinking; and Dean is pretty much an anything-goes type when it comes to beer.

ooo

It's two parts frustration and two parts amusement, but _God _Castiel Novak is definitely from a different planet. "No, Cas," Dean says, "You can't change the barrel like that, you just, you gotta, here…"

And then he's showing him. Castiel seems to pick it up when Dean actually _shows him _but is apparently absolutely hopeless with verbal instructions. It's also pretty obvious that the guy has probably never set foot in a bar before, because he doesn't seem to understand anything about them.

Just twenty minutes ago, Dean had caught Castiel just _stood _at the bar staring at two girls in one of the booths. He had his head titled into this bizarre expression of bewilderment and when prompted, he'd just said '_I don't understand why the girl doesn't just approach the gentleman in the striped shirt, if she's so interested in sleeping with him.'_

Dean had nearly choked on his own saliva. Then, he was laughing and he'd be damned if he remembered the last time he'd done that _properly. _

It had taken just under an hour for Dean to conclude that he hadn't got a hope in hell of going home early, and about an hour and a half until he started having a really good time.

"So, I bet you study something really nerdy?" Dean prompts, cleaning a dirty glass and watching Castiel's gaze travels round the Roadhouse's (gradually thinning) customers.

"Languages," Castiel offers, "modern and ancient."

"Huh," Dean says, "so you can pick up chicks in every language?" Castiel's gaze shifted from the rest of the bar and back onto Dean (who was unwillingly become used to the guys staring habit already). "Teach me some swearwords. How d'you say fuck off in Spanish?"

"Vete a la mierda,"

"Awesome," Dean grins, "how do you say...go to bed, you freaking baby?" Castiel gives him a look that suggests that's a pretty strange thing to be asking about, which Dean guesses is about right. "I got his little brother. He's doing a Spanish class and geeks-out over all this stuff."

"Try _yo soy un imbécil._"

"Right," Dean says, "Sammy will probably piss his pants."

"He pass your test, Dean?" Ellen asks, stepping out of the back with Ash and Jo this time.

"Yeah," Dean says, "Cas aint as bad as he looks."

"A ringing endorsement from Dean Winchester," Jo says, pulling herself up a chair, "you must be so pleased, Castiel."

She sounds pretty irritated, so there's a high chance that her date when down the pan. Dean's not really all that surprised because Jo is hot, but could totally eat all guys her age alive and he doesn't really see them going for the girl with the gun-collection. It's dumb, because Jo's awesome, but really not a big shock.

"You be polite, Joanna Beth," Ellen instructs, "now, Castiel, you just gotta pass the Harvelle test –"

" – oh, come on," Dean interrupts, glancing at Castiel feeling pretty worried. Yeah, Cas's arrival probably pulled Dean out of his own personal hell which probably helped twist Dean's opinion of him… but he's hilarious and brutally honest all by accident, which Dean thinks he can total dig. He's had one of the most enjoyable shifts for months (since before the incident) and he definitely wants Cas to stick around.

That's kind of worrying all by itself, because Dean doesn't form attachments to people all that easily. Usually, he likes a person if they do something dumb like say 'okie dokie,' or drive a sweet car, or whatever … but it's all pretty superficial and passing. He doesn't waste thoughts on people too much, but somehow Cas has gotten under his skin in the space of a single shift.

And he sure as shit ain't going to pass the Harvelle test.

"The guy wears a freaking trench coat," Dean complains, "you can't make someone in a holy tax accountant get up attempt your stupid test, Ellen."

"What is it?" Castiel asks.

"You gotta drink one of us under the table," Ellen grins, placing a bottle of tequila down on the bar. Dean stomach turns over because he's not quite over his last run in with tequila, which had also been all Ellen's fault. "Your pick." Castiel turns his gaze towards Dean, questioning.

"Don't look at me, Cas, I'm driving," Dean says, "besides, you haven't got a hope in hell on that account. And don't pick Ash. He might already smell like the backside of a brewery, but that doesn't mean he ain't got another half a bottle in him… and don't take on Jo, cause she'll beat your ass and then Ellen'll eat you alive for getting her underage daughter drunk."

"Which leaves me," Ellen says.

"Yeah," Dean says, glancing back at Castiel, "which means our resident nerd is screwed. Nice knowing you, Cas."

"Since Dean likes you so much," Ellen says, "I'm prepared to do you a deal. You impress me, Novak, you're hired for good."

"That's even worse," Dean complains, but he's pulling out the shot glasses anyway. "Ellen ain't easily impressed." He lines up four, because he thinks any more than that and Castiel will probably just die. He gets out the lime and the salt and balks at Castiel's confused expression. "You ever drunk Tequila?"

Castiel looks at him in a way that clearly says _no Dean _and after thirty seconds of staring at him and wondering _how _(before reminding himself about the trench coat), he turns to Ellen and Jo for support. Obviously, that doesn't really work out.

"You came in your car, Cas?"

"If you can call it that," Jo snorts, pouring herself a shot of tequila.

"I'll give you a lift home," Dean sighs, passing Jo a lime wedge.

"This is how it goes, Cas," Jo says. Jo-plus-alcohol is a weird phenomenon, because she's technically underage (only by a few months, as Jo likes to remind him)and fifty percent of the time Ellen likes to remind her of the fact… then occasions like this happen, and she takes a Tequila shot like a pro and Ellen usually seems pretty proud.

They've already called last orders, so there's just a bunch of the regulars finishing their last drinks, who are all too happy to migrate over to watch the new bartender be broken in the proper Harvelle way. Some of them are probably taking bets.

Castiel puts the salt on the back of his hand slightly awkwardly, but then he's a walking bag of awkward, as Dean pours the four shots with a feeling of trepidation.

The first one is pretty painless. Castiel seems to have barely tasted the Tequila, and Dean's pretty impressed considering it's his first time with the damnable stuff. Shot number two, three and four are all tackled in much the same systematic way, till they're all empty.

Then he looks up at Ellen.

"Not quite, kiddo," Ellen says, "pour them again, Dean."

"Jesus," Dean mutters, pouring another four with a grimace. He reaches for another lime and is about to start cutting it into wedges, when Castiel bursts into motion; number five goes down, neat, then six, and the shot glass gets placed the wrong way up, then seven and eight.

It takes about thirty seconds for all four to be drank and at least twice as long as that before any of them are capable of speaking.

"It's not the end of the world, kid," Ellen says, blinking.

"I think I'm starting to feel something," Castiel says, looking down at the shot glasses before looking up at Dean again. Dean's jaw is slightly slack and _yeah_ that was freaking awesome.

"I like him," Jo says, decisively.

"Yeah, well, let's leave the angel alone now,"

Every single eye in the room turns to face Dean for a second before he releases quite what he said. Jo looks like she's about to laugh out loud and Ellen's biting back a proper grin. Ash had only just been paying attention to them as opposed to his mad computer, but he's certainly paying attention now.

"_Angel_?"

"My name is angelic," Castiel interjects, "I am named after the angel of Thursdays."

Dean swallows. Although the others are probably just going to assume Dean asked and Cas told him that stuff about his name, it's bad enough that Cas knows he didn't.

In his defence, he was going through some bad shit. Sam always had all this faith in _the good _and he used to pray pretty much every night (which he thinks Dean doesn't know about). Then Dad died and he was _desperate _and he picked up the freaking bible because _he didn't know what else to do. _And yeah, he came out the other end deciding that even if there was a God he was an arsehole, but wound up picking an interest in the old mythologies.

Since, he'd read a book on Norse Gods and came to the conclusion that it must _suck _to be a female Norse God. He'd read about the Greek Gods and decided they were all a massive bag of dicks. And he'd read about angels, because it turned out they were bad ass _warriors _of God rather than the hallmark cherub crap.

"Right," Jo said, "obviously,"

"Well, did he pass your test?"

"If he doesn't throw up before closing," Ellen says, "you got yourself a job, Cas."

"You ever had a job before, Cas?"

"No," Castiel returns, still sat very still on his bar stool, "have you?"

"Oh Dean's worked everywhere," Jo puts in, "restaurants, diners, bars, strip joints…"

"You _wish_ I was a stripper, Joanna Beth."

"Drop the full name, Winchester," Jo returns, "and I like my men a little classier."

"Trenchcoat here's probably drunk enough by now," Dean says, and then Jo throws a tea towel at him and Dean's grinning. There'd been five years when his Dad had fallen out with Ellen and Jo, so until the funeral he hadn't seen either of them for years… so, it was a bit of a shock when Jo was suddenly twenty and sort of gorgeous, instead of just a kid. And he'd totally have tried it on if he wasn't terrified of Ellen (and Jo) and absolutely not interested in anything at all at the time.

It's better like this though. He likes the banter with Jo. He's glad there's minimal risk of him really fucking it up and her getting mad at her.

"Seems more interested in you, _Dean," _Jo says, quiet enough that Cas couldn't hear, before she swaggers out back and leaves them to it.

Dean glances back at Castiel and, yup, the guy's still staring at him. Although, given circumstances, it's frankly a miracle the guy can even stand.

"I can close up if you want to take your _angel _home," Ash says with a wink.

He's gonna be getting it in the neck for that comment until he's walking with a stick.

"Cas, you good to move?" Dean asks. There's only one guy left in the Roadhouse now and Ash can definitely handle him, so… "Right, let's head off."

They're out the door when he sees the _monstrosity _which seems to be Cas' car, "Jo wasn't kidding, huh," Dean mutters, leading Castiel to the Impala, "Cas, meet my baby, baby…meet Cas."

On the drive home, which turns out not to be too far outside Dean's way, Cas makes him laugh exactly seven times completely by accident. He's not half as drunk as Dean thinks he probably should be, but he figures maybe the Tequila hasn't hit him yet.

He's still pretty worried, so he walks Cas right up to his door… and if he leaves Cas his number, it's only because he wants Cas to inform him he's still alive tomorrow morning.

Sam's thankfully asleep when he gets in. Dean scribbles a note and leaves it on his bedside table before crawling to bed. It's one of the first nights for ages he's slept without drinking first.

_Sammy,_

_Yo soy un imbécil. _

_Don't wake me up till five minutes before you need a lift to school. Exhausted._

_Ps. New guy at work_

* * *

_As a note, I made Dean slightly older for things to work out here. So, Dean is 22 and Sam is 15 (nearly 16) which I hope you'll forgive me for. Also, this is the first time I've written any SPN fanfiction or any fanfiction that wasn't from an English-based fandom and I'm really weirded out by all the American-ness. I've never used most American Slang except in a reaaally ironic way and so I found this dialogue really difficult and it's probably terrible so PLEASE if you have any advice! _


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wakes him up much too early for Dean's liking, but he comes bearing coffee and he's grinning like an idiot so it's not all bad.

"Best be a double shot in that coffee," Dean mutters, pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Got back late?"

Dean's not awake enough to do the maths and he knows it's probably not gonna make him feel any better, anyway. Despite leaving at closing – or near enough – and taking a detour to drop Castiel off, he still got more sleep than normal.

"Yeah," Dean says, "you done all your homework, Sammy?"

"Yes, Dean," Sam returns with an eye roll, "And if you don't get your ass out of bed in the next five minutes, we're gonna be late."

"You're gonna be late," Dean corrects, "I'm gonna be somewhere eating pancakes,"

"_Deaan_,"

"Quit whining, I'm up," Dean says, pulling himself out of bed with a grimace.

It takes an average of five minutes to get Dean from bed to the front seat of the Impala, but on this particular morning it takes more like seven. Normally, that means he's accompanied by Sam's best bitch-face until Dean's picked up enough time that there's no real danger of him being late, but today he's still grinning when they pull out the parking lot.

"What are you so happy about?"

"What?" Sam asks.

"You," Dean says, casting a glance over at him at the crossing, "you look like you just won a textbook or something."

"Can't I just be happy?"

"Well, yeah," Dean says, "but not about going to school, man, it's not natural."

"I like school,"

"High school sucks,"

"So this new guy at work?"

"Castiel," Dean says, "uni student. Great big nerd like you."

"And he gave you the Spanish in the note you left me?"

"Yeah. And?"

"Dean," Sam grins, "did you not think that 'imbécil' sounded a little like imbecile?"

Dean nearly swerves.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, thinking of Castiel's entirely stoic expression as he offered the phrase to Dean. So, he'd been duped. Worse, duped by a trench coat wearing language student who didn't know you were supposed to drink Tequila with lime and salt. Fuck.

Sam's outright laughing and doesn't look like he's gonna stop any time soon. It does, at least, explain away his brother's shit eating grin.

"I can't believe you fell for that,"

"I was tired."

"So, you like Castiel?"

"I did," Dean mutters, darkly, and Sam starts laughing all over again.

"Come on, Dean," Sam grins as they finally pull up in front of his school, "you gotta admit that's pretty impressive." Dean doesn't answer. "What hours you working today?"

"Ten till four at the diner," Dean says, "then I got the evening off for movie night."

"You have a science credit class at two," Sam says, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I have a lunch break, Sam,"

"It takes fifteen minutes to get there,"

"I'll talk to Pamela, sort something out."

"Can't you work later?"

"No," Dean says, "because then I'm late picking you up from your nerd-fest, shortstack."

"I could go to a friend's place," Sam says, and Dean turns to look at him properly.

"You wanna go to a friend's place?"

"No, Dean, I'm just saying –"

"- you wanna go hang out with one of your friends, you go hang out with one of your friends."

"Dean," Sam complains, "you're not listening to what I'm saying."

"Because it's boring, Sam. This conversation ain't making anyone any happier. I'll make the science class and I'll be here to pick you up from wherever you're gonna be."

"Can we talk about this later?"

"We got five minutes. You wanna talk about it, we can talk about it now."

"You're a dick before you've had breakfast," Sam says, "and I'm testing you about class later."

"I bet you are," Dean grumbles, "have a shitty day, bitch."

"Enjoy your pancakes," Sam says, pushing open the door. Dean watches him for a moment feeling like one of those a-grade-dick parents who never leave fast enough… but, it's not often he gets to watch Sam be happy with kids his own age. He's enfolded into a group within a couple of seconds and, yeah, it's nice to see him actually have friends. After he started high school, the fact that they stayed a max of a month or two at each school meant Sam just about gave up bothering to talk to people. Dean had done the same, sure, but Sam was supposed to be the social one… now, he's settled in properly. It's nice.

He's kind of dreading the day Sam asks if he can invite a friend over, or whatever, because then Dean's got to accept that Sam actually has a life of his own. It's hella selfish, but sometimes he misses the days when it was just the two of them against the world.

He calls Bobby on the way to the Diner.

"Bobby, am I dick before breakfast?"

"And before breakfast and dinner, y'a idjit," Bobby returns, "you ever coming into work, boy?"

"Hell yeah," Dean says, "You need me on Saturday?"

Bobby's backyard mechanic business has always been Dean's favourite job. He feels right when he's taking apart a car and piecing her back together again, under the hood, hands covered in grease. Problem is, ever since he learned how to flirt he pulls more in in tips than he can working for Bobby and, besides, Bobby doesn't need him full time. Still, it's shitty that the hours he puts in at the diner takes away from his time at Bobby's.

"I got a car that needs fixing up. Been bashed up real good, but I reckon you could get her running. And with your idjit brother's birthday…"

"Bobby," Dean grins, "Bobby, you're _awesome_. She good enough for my little brother?"

"She ain't no Impala,"

"Well, no one competes with baby,"

"But I think you'll like her. And I ain't payin' you no labour."

"Yeah, okay, old man."

"And that's your Christmas present, too," Bobby grumbles, "and you better get on with it, boy, I ain't having her clogging up my garage till you think you got enough time to stop by."

It's all a front, because Bobby would hold onto the car if Dean needed him too. And, come Christmas, Dean is pretty freaking sure Bobby'll pass him over a bottle of decent whiskey and a 'don't drink it all at once, ya'idjit,' but Bobby's grumpy by definition.

"I'll come over tomorrow," Dean grins. He can talk to Ellen, maybe. He's got Sammy all day Saturday and there's no way he can come to Bobby's and work on the car with Sam there, but if he plays the shift-swapping game he should able to work out a way for it to be possible. And if he's not paying for a car, then he's saving enough to make it worth it.

Bobby hangs up.

Dean's about to shove his phone back in his pocket, when he realises he's got a new message.

_I am alive. Thank you for the ride. Castiel._

He'd forgotten about the impulsive giving-Cas-his-number-business, but he doesn't regret it.

He didn't really mean to instantly forgive Cas for the whole Spanish incident, but the message makes him grin without his permission. Actually, it's kind of awesome that Castiel is both a nerdy trench coat-wearing language student and a total bad ass at drinking Tequila and tricking Dean into calling himself an imbecile. The guy's named after an angel and has one of the most commanding voice's he's ever heard. He's got no sense of humour and is somehow frigging hilarious. He dresses like a professor but has at least semi-permanent sex hair.

He gets to the diner early enough to get his free breakfast.

_Glad to hear it, Cas. How's the hangover?_

The only reason he gets his free breakfast is because it's thanks to his sweet ass that half the regulars come on a regular basis; it's near enough the college that plenty of the students come in a lot, and he's the cute waiter that winks and flirts. Most of them can't tip much cause they're students, but it adds up.

_I have a headache. I understand this is customary._

Dean half wants to laugh, but instead takes another sip of his coffee.

It doesn't matter how many customers Dean brings in, Pam's not gonna let him take an hour and a half lunch break. He can probably swing a full hour as he's taking it late, but either way he's gonna be early or late for class. And he's not gonna get any food, so he better enjoy breakfast while he can.

He can grab them a pizza on the way back from picking up Sammy, or else they can order one, and he'll get one with vegetables on to please Sam (because he really doesn't have time for cooking and crap right now, but as soon as they have some savings Sam can have all the vegetables he likes – providing he keeps them as far away from Dean as possible) and they'll marathon watch Star Wars and it'll be awesome.

_Suggest aspirin, coffee + a double cheeseburger_

He's probably gonna fall asleep during Star Wars, because he only got about four hours sleep last night, but he's pretty sure Sam's gonna appreciate the effort.

_I can rec a good diner_

He saves Castiel's number onto his phone and texts him the name of Pam's Diner, just because he feels like it.

0o0

He's not really expecting Cas to listen to him or take his suggestions seriously, but he turns up looking stiff and awkward in his trench coat just as the lunch time rush is starting. He's carrying a stack full of books and looks like he might smite anyone who makes too much noise, which would probably actually be pretty terrifying given the walking enigma Cas seems to be.

"On the house," Dean says as he delivers him a coffee, "although you gotta pay for a burger if you're having one."

"Dean," Cas says, looking at him slightly blearily.

"Morning, Princess," Dean grins, "those neat Tequila shots still seeming like a good plan?"

"I got the job." Dean's not gonna be the one to tell him that Ellen probably would have given him the job anyway, because that's all kinds of cruel. Maybe when his apparent hangover has worn off slightly. "You work here."

"Yeah," Dean says, "so, that cheeseburger?"

Castiel nods.

He'd like to linger round his table for a bit, but it's pretty freaking busy. There's a bunch of the regular girls who'll probably forgive him for the lack of the attention, but there's a group of new university kids that look like they could be big tippers (a full set of branded clothes and new textbooks, unlike the standard second hand textbooks most kids have got).

"You work very hard, Dean," Castiel says when Dean eventually brings over his burger.

Dean's been breaking his back working since he was allowed to, and he doesn't need anyone to thank him for that. There's nothing special about holding down three jobs just so he can pay the bills, because he's gotta do it for Sam. If Dean hadn't been able to prove that he was capable of looking after his brother, he'd be with some stupid foster family or some shit like that. If Dean hadn't been making sure they were fed for years, the CPS would have gotten involved ages ago.

He doesn't do anything remarkable. He flirts his way into most of the cash he earns and he's not good for much but serving out food and fixing cars, so he's gotta look after Sammy to prove he's worth something. That's just the way it is.

It's pretty strange to have someone – particularly a smart ass guy like Castiel – acknowledge that what he does isn't exactly easy.

"It's no languages degree," Dean says, "or else I might not have told Sammy I was an imbecile this morning."

"Language student perk," Castiel says, with a small smile, before his expression turned serious again, "do not belittle yourself, Dean."

It's pretty frigging weird that he met the guy yesterday and now he's delivering him life advice, but yet here they are. The weirdest bit is it doesn't feel weird, but he's not a teenage girl so she's not gonna dwell on that.

"Hey, I'm the one wrangling for a tip here," Dean says, "stop stealing my lines, Cas."

He leaves with a wink and doesn't have a chance to talk to Castiel again, but Jamie tells him later that he tipped him twenty dollars. He's not really sure what to make of the whole thing and winds up thinking about his weird staring habit all through the forty minutes of his lecture he actually makes.

Right between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes back, he fails Sam's science test.

He really doesn't care.


	3. Chapter 3

Occasionally, when Dean works the earlier shift at the Roadhouse he brings Sam along.

They've been hanging around the Roadhouse since they were both tiny and he'd rather be able to watch Sam then leave him alone in the apartment all day. He's working three till eight, which is a pretty stupid shift… but Ellen probably didn't need him in at all, so he's taking what he can get.

Normally, half the slightly hardened regulars start spouting emotional tales about when they were kids and usually end up buying his brother a day's supply of soda and food whilst Sam does his homework. Or else, Sam sits at the bar chatting to him in between customers. It's probably not the top way a fifteen year old would like to spend their Saturday, but there's not much he can do about that. And Sam doesn't complain, ever, which is one of the reasons why Sammy's so awesome.

"Cas," Dean says, calling him over, "this is my little brother, Sammy –"

"- Sam,"

"– and he's a little geek too," Dean finishes, ruffling up his hair on purpose (which makes Sam cringe away from him and roll his eyes), "emphasis on _little, _shortstack."

"He's on the edge of a growth spurt," Ellen adds, "you watch yourself, Dean, he'll catch up with you."

"And he'll still be a little girl. Sam was wandering if you could check over his Spanish verbs in his love notes or something."

"– Dean," Sam frowns, "will you quit it?"

"My older brothers are also very embarrassing," Castiel says, nodding at Sam, "I can check your verbs whilst the bar is empty, if that's okay with Ellen."

Sam looks at Ellen, expression eager. Ellen exchanges a look with Dean, which Dean take to mean 'your brother is real cute' which is also true. The damnable puppy eyes and stupid hair cut cover the worse of his sins.

"Who am I to stand in the way of your education?" Ellen asks.

"Thanks!" Sam grins, "Dean says you're _super _smart –"

Cas turns to look at him, expression evidentially amused. Dean finds one hand going distractedly to his hair in mild embarrassment. Yeah, Dean told Sam about Cas, but he certainly didn't say 'super smart' and he certainly wasn't such a girl about it.

"– I'll leave you to your geek-date," Dean says, offering Jo a mildly inappropriate wink (whilst Ellen's looking the other way) before heading behind the bar. It's a Saturday, which means it'll be busy later, but it's early enough that there's only a few of the very dedicated regulars in… and Cas is on shift, and Jo _isn't _till later but she's hanging around all the same, which means it's probably going to be a really good day.

"Beer, please," Jo says, pulling up a bar stool opposite him.

"The day your Mom takes a road trip to Alaska, I'll get you a beer,"

"Like you've never snuck Sammy a drink," Jo grins, glancing over at the booth where Sam and Castiel are sat. Sammy looks pretty delighted to have stumbled upon someone as _super smart _as Castiel, whereas Castiel has that time old expression of concentration; there's something quite nice about seeming them together.

"I'm not hella scared of Sam's guardian," Dean says, fairly, "and besides, Sam's such a girl he probably drinks _Martinis._"

"Mom lets me drink,"

"I'm sure she does, sweetheart."

"Screw you, Dean," Jo says, but she's smiling, "So Sam really is a geek, huh?"

"College boy in the making," Dean says, "you gonna deliver my geek-brother a coke for me?"

"Hell no," Jo returns, "I'm not working till eight."

Dean huffs a laugh and pours his brother a coke, stepping out from behind the bar to deliver it himself.

"Castiel," Sam says, excitedly, as he takes the coke, "do you do French, too?"

"Why?" Castiel asks, "Do you have French verbs to congregate?"

"No," Sam says, and Dean feels his stomach turn over, "Dean's doing some classes at the community college and he's got some French credits and maybe you could help him?"

"I wasn't aware that you were at college, Dean."

Yeah, Dean hadn't mentioned that. Actually, he tries to pretend it's not happening when he's not actually at college, because he doesn't like it. He doesn't fit in and he feels stupid the whole time and he's only doing it because Sam wants him to.

He glances back to Jo for support, but Jo's just turned around in her chair and is watching them curiously.

"Yeah," Sam says, "He works at Bobby's, and here, and at the diner and then he's doing a course at the community college. Dean is really smart too."

"I'm a high school dropout, Sam," Dean interrupts, ready to turn and walk away from the conversation (because Cas is _looking _at him again, as though he can see his _soul _and his whole history in his eyes, which is like… hella uncomfortable and pretty normal at the same time).

"That wasn't your fault!" Sam says, loudly.

"Sam," Dean complains, turning back around with a grimace, "stop it."

"It _wasn't," _Sam says, "you were working two jobs and –"

"– _Sam._"

"– and we hadn't really eaten in two days and –"

That's not really true. _Sam _hadn't had a meal in two days, yeah, but Dean was nearly at five. And it wasn't like they didn't have food, because they did; they'd had bread and a couple of packets of chips, but that didn't really cut it. He'd found it pretty damn difficult to sit through a stupid science lesson when he knew that Sam had to be freaking starving, and he'd been near failing anyway, so it made sense…

"– you don't know anything about it, Sam –"

" – and Dad stole your _emergency _emergency money to buy whiskey and – "

"– he didn't steal anything, Sammy, he asked for it and –"

"– AND it wasn't your responsibility!" Sam half yells, "Dean's been looking after me for forever," Sam tells Cas, "but he's _really _smart."

Dean's face is burning. He's pretty aware that Jo and Ellen are watching (and, sure, they're practically family, but Dean certainly didn't ring them up whining every time things got bad, and Dad fell out with them about five years ago… so they don't know about half the stuff that went on) and he's _hyper-aware _that Cas is staring holes into his skin.

The silence in the Roadhouse is palpable.

"You trying to set me and Cas up or something?" Dean asks, "Because, I don't know if I mentioned this, Sam, but I'm not really that sort of guy."

"Shut up," Sam returns, "He's trying to diffuse the tension with some stupid joke," Sam tells Cas, "he does that when he doesn't want to talk about something."

"I could help you with French," Castiel says.

"It's fine," Dean tells Cas, their eyes locked in some silent conversation Dean's not sure he can interpret.

"You're failing French," Sam says, "I saw your assignment."

"It wouldn't be a problem." Cas says, both of them ignoring Sam.

"I'm not really the college type."

"You _promised _you'd try," Sam pouts, "you promised me." Cas tilts his head at him slightly, as if trying to work him out. Dean was going to say something to Sam, but he's sort of forgotten where he was going with that thought, and… "Fine!" Sam complains, "I'll leave you two to your little moment."

Dean jerks himself out of his impromptu staring competition with Castiel, dragging his gaze back to his little brother feeling embarrassed. A quick glance at Castiel is enough to show that Cas doesn't share the sentiment; he's as unflappable and stoic as ever.

"Well, I'm never taking you to work again," Dean says, shaking his head and heading back to the bar, "and Cas doesn't want to know our autobiography, Sam, so quit this sharing is caring crap."

"Dean isn't very good at dealing with his emotions," Sam says, cheerfully, "he's emotionally constipated. It's probably all the burgers."

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters. Jo's outright laughing at him and Ellen is grinning, but Castiel still has that stare-y expression on. "Sam used to want to be a ballet dancer,"

"That isn't even true," Sam says, "Dean once sold his mobile phone so I could go on a school trip."

"Sammy got a Barbie doll for Christmas,"

"Because Dean _stole _the next door neighbours Christmas presents without opening them," Sam says, "because Dad disappeared and he couldn't buy me anything."

"Sam once ate six boxes of lucky charms."

"Dean stood up his first girlfriend to go to my parents evening."

"You're so gonna get it, Sam," Dean says, "you little bitch,"

"Jerk."

"Short ass,"

"So," Jo grins, "what did this girlfriend do?"

"She wrote a lot of stuff on the bathroom walls," Sam says, happily, "It wasn't very flattering."

"Yeah, well, it's not like you've ever gone near a girl, Sammy, so… hey, wait a second, short ass, I know that look. You got some secret girlfriend you never told me about?"

Sam mumbles something.

"In California?" Dean asks, "That's what you were doing in California?"

California was the longest he'd ever lost Sam for. It was the summer holidays, so Sam hadn't had to worry about people wondering why he wasn't in school. He'd ditched his phone. Dad had refused to help look for him until the month mark, but then they were back on the road searching for him together… and they had found him, eventually, but it had to be one of the worst nights of his life.

"I also had a dog," Sam says, quietly.

"Jesus," Dean mutters, because what do you say to that? His then fourteen year old brother had ran away and found a girlfriend and a dog, whilst Dean had spent the entire time freaking the fuck out and not sleeping.

He's saved by the entry of a couple of customers, which means he's got ten minutes of solid flirting to distract himself from Sam spilling family secrets in front of _Castiel _and the way Cas doesn't even seem surprised about the world of crap he's dealt with.

The few customers who came into turned into a stream, so Castiel leaves Sam with his books and join Dean behind the bar.

"I will help you with French, Dean," Castiel says, a little too close to really adhere to social boundaries and a little too serious for the given situation.

"All right, Cas," Dean says. The words lodge in his throat and don't come out as smoothly as he'd like, but Cas knows so little of social etiquette that it hardly seems like it matters.

The rest of the night is spent with Jo making jokes about his girlfriend so that they don't have to talk about the other stuff Sam bought up, Castiel being silent and a little uncomfortable, while Sam does his work and carries on teasing him.

He's not gonna bring up how much he likes having everyone all in the same room, cause he's not some doe-eyed teenage girl… but work is so much better when Sam's there. Even when he's got his nose in a book and isn't saying anything, the reassurance of his presence makes him relax a bit. He's there, he's safe and he's happy (or near enough). He's selfish enough that he wishes Sam didn't have to go to school and instead could just hang out with him all day, and he's absolutely terrified of the day Sam fucks off to college and never talks to him again.

Cas is watching him, so Dean throws his dishcloth over his shoulder and winks.

Gotta keep his game face up.

* * *

_So, this is only supposed to be half a chapter... but, I'm supposed to send my editor my edits in like uh eight hours and I can't concentrate SO I'm bribing myself with SPN ff like the dedicated author I am. So, if all goes well, the next chapter will be up REALLY shortly :)_


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel suggested doing French on Monday morning.

Dean figured the guy's probably as busy as hell, so he spent thirty minutes sweet talking Pamela into letting him have Monday off. He's got a couple of classes on Monday anyway which meant Sam was grinning for thirty minutes straight when he eventually got it sorted. He's probably not gonna tell Sammy that he's gonna be spending the rest of the day at Bobby's, because he knows full well he's gonna throw a bitch-fit.

He's itching to get under a car, anyway.

He turns up at some fancy-ass coffee place – which once ago throws up the question of '_is Cas actually broke?' _– and Castiel is already there, and he's bought him the right coffee. He's looking as awkward as usual with his trench coat on _inside _and a stack of books next to him, and the fact that he looks just as out of place as Dean feels makes him feel slightly better.

"Look, man," Dean says, sitting down, "I'm really only sticking the college thing out so Sam gets off my ass, so if you can't teach me then…"

"Why does Sam want you to study?" Castiel asks.

"Oh," Dean says, because it's been a long time since anyone asked about his life. He barely talks to anyone at college on account of only just attending and, besides, he's never really had friends. His social circle extends entirely to Ellen, Bobby, Jo and Sammy. He's not about to start spouting his life story to any of them, because they already know the gist of it, and he's hardly going to explain the whole messy ordeal to any of the girls he occasional hooks up with. "Well, huh, I guess you picked up from Sam that… I looked after him a bit,"

It's a reasonable question for Castiel ask. There are a lot of reasonable questions to ask about Dean's situation. Why he's twenty one and has been supporting his little brother since he could bluff his way into paid employment and a little bit before then (if stealing shit counts as 'supporting'), but it's a long, messy story Dean doesn't like to talk about a lot.

"Yes," Castiel says.

"I figure he wants me to look after myself… but it's stupid. I had other stuff going on, you know? So I don't remember shit about anything they taught us at school and it's... just not the priority."

"He said you've been missing classes,"

"Look," Dean says, "there was this thing that happened two months ago. This… this armed bank robbery and I ended up in the middle of it. College wasn't so bad before, because everyone just left me alone, then this crap hits the paper… and suddenly everyone's trying to call me a hero. At first it was kinda awesome, cause chicks dig that stuff and someone else is always buying me a beer… but it… look, it doesn't matter. I'll probably be made to dropout soon anyway."

"I can help you,"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Good things do happen, Dean,"

"Not in my experience," Dean returns, grimacing. It looks like he's now picked himself up a very dedicated tutor with stupidly blue eyes and no concept of when it's inappropriate to stare at someone so much, "what about you, anyway? You picked up enough about me from Sammy's big mouth."

"Your brother is very proud of you,"

"Yeah, Sammy's awesome," Dean says, "you mentioned brothers?"

"Three brothers, one sister,"

"Crap," Dean says, "older or younger?"

"All older," Castiel says.

"They as smart as you?"

"Smarter," Castiel says, his expression as stony as ever. Ellen has informed him on multiple occasions that his expression goes soppy when he's talking about his brother, but – if anything – Castiel's expressions tightens into something angrier at the mention of his family.

"Family issues, huh?"

"This isn't helping you improve your French grade, Dean,"

"Sam told you about the first time I got drunk, the little bitch, you gotta give me something here, Cas."

"I had never been intoxicated until I moved to Kansas, at the beginning of the academic year."

"Well, shit."

"My… my family are very religious," Castiel says, pulling out a French book from his bag and setting it on the table, "I moved to Kansas to escape them."

"Family sucks," Dean says.

He's gonna buy something green for dinner to ease the guilt about lying to Sam, but there's nothing to be done. He's gotta get Sammy a car. Not least because Dad would have been pissed if Dean hadn't managed to pull it off, but also cause every other sixteen year old round this place has one. Sam's already different in a couple of hundred different ways and, besides, he deserves to have his own car. Hell, by the time Dean turned sixteen their Dad was permanently drunk and almost useless, but he still passed over the keys to the Impala, Dean's baby.

"You are very close to your brother," Cas says, head slightly titled as he tries to work him out.

"Well, I'm his guardian," Dean says, uncomfortable, "he's my responsibility. I gotta… his future's on me."

He's very, very thankful that Cas doesn't ask about his parents.

Sam hadn't said a good word about their father for two years before he died and Bobby tends to keep very tight lipped about the whole thing, but he was Dean's hero for almost his whole life. He spent years trying to please him and sort out his messes, and his death is still so raw that he doesn't like to think about it.

He can't, cause that brings up all that other crap, and if he starts thinking about everything he tends to drown in it.

"Ton frère est petit," The rasp in Cas's voice is kind of distracting when he's speaking _French_ and Dean has to run the words over in his head a few times before they really register, which means he looks like an idiot. Castiel doesn't seem to notice, though.

"Sammy is… what?"

"Short,"

"Ah, yeah, he totally is," Dean grins. He pulls out his page of notes about family which turns out to be a bad idea, cause he got fed up half way through the lesson and wrote 'Mr Roman est un grand dick' which, according to the snobby girl sitting next to him, wasn't even good French. He glances down to double check the word for brother; he's pretty sure he remembers it, and Cas did just say it, but he doesn't want to look like an idiot in front of Cas. "Tes frères sont-ils... petits?"

"Gabriel est petit."

"Gabriel?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows, "Your brother is called _Gabriel_? What are the others called?" Castiel gives him a stern look, which Dean takes to mean _ask me in French. _Nerd. "Tes… frères appelés?"

"Michael et Lucifer."

"I think you got off lightly," Dean says, "Ta soeur?"

"Anael," Cas says, "although she goes by Anna."

"You're supposed to speak in French, douchebag," Dean grins, "where do they all live?"

"I am not in contact with them at the moment."

"Combien de temps?" Dean asks, because for some reason it's easier to push in a different language (even though he really does hate French, it's a frigging stupid language). Somehow, this seems more like a game than a conversation, which means it's a little easier to absorb.

"Anna, deux ans. Gabriel, trois."

Two and three years… Dean freaks out when he hasn't spoken to Sam in over eight hours, so he can't even _imagine _being out of contact with him for _years. _

"Merde," Dean shifts uncomfortably. He's not used to the other side of the coin, here, and he doesn't know what you say that that; Sam's always the one running away, and Dean's the one following. "Pourquoi?"

"Anna et Gabriel sont partis. Michael et Lucifer sont souvent en désaccord. Nous avons des avis très différents. J'ai déménagé ici pour m'en échapper."

"Dude," Dean mutters, "didn't understand _a word._"

"I will write it down," Cas says, and his handwriting is half neat but a little bit erratic, "you can translate it later."

"You're setting me homework?" Dean complains.

"You do not have to complete it,"

"But you're not gonna tell me what you said?"

"No, Dean," Castiel says, pushing a piece of paper in his direction.

"What's this about Sam?" Dean asks, squinting at the extra lines of French that he's pretty damn sure Cas never actually said out loud. There are a few words he actually recognises… car, Father, sorry.

Dean folds the piece of paper and shoves it in his pocket cause, yeah, he doesn't want to think about that right now.

For the next half an hour, Castiel patiently explains some grammatical rule he's pretty sure was never mentioned in class (although, the likelihood is he probably missed it), to the point where Dean almost feels like he gets it.

Almost.

0o0

In the end, buying some green food for Sam's dinner doesn't actually cut it.

He's in a really good mood when he picks Sam up because he managed to make two classes _and _get to Bobby's to make some good progress with the car. Except, Sam wants to go visit Bobby because they haven't been for ages and Dean knows it's gonna blow up in his face, but he _still_ doesn't tell Sammy he skipped class… and they're pulling up in front of Bobby's place and Bobby makes some comment about him haunting the damn place, and then Sam goes from cheerful to bitch face #2.0 in the space of about thirty seconds.

"You _said_ you went to class today, Dean," Sam says, turning on him.

"I _did_,"

"You said you went to _all of them._"

"Huh, well, I guess it slipped my mind,"

"Don't give me that crap," Sam says, livid, "why don't you ever just _tell me the truth_?"

"Maybe it's because you're fifteen, Sam," Dean snaps, "You're a kid."

"Don't treat me like I don't understand," Sam bites back, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height, "you act like you're alone in this."

"I am the _adult." _

He knows that's gonna piss Sammy off, but it's also true. Back when he was fifteen, he didn't really get the chance to be a proper child and, yeah, Sam's childhood has been pretty messed up… but Dean's fought tooth and nail to make sure he had some good memories to look back on. Once, when their Dad had parked them somewhere to disappear and get drunk for a couple of days on end, Dean had driven out of town and they'd had a picnic on the hood of the impala in the middle of the damn night. On another occasion, they'd let off fireworks. There'd been a couple of times when he'd nicked footballs and they'd spent whole days playing dodge ball, or football, or whatever.

And yeah, those were some of the best moments of his life, but he was the one calculating the risk factors and the money factors and Dad factors. The whole damn time. Whilst Sam had stood watching the fireworks explode into the night, Dean had been half worrying about the fire-danger and where the hell Dad was.

_He_ was the adult.

"Can you just quit trying to be Dad for ten minutes and be my _brother?_"

"I'm trying my damn hardest here!"

"Yeah," Sam says, breathing hard, "and I get that, Dean, I do, but you're _such _a kid sometimes."

"I'm the kid?"

"Yes," Sam says, "the kid skipping school to mess around fixing up cars. And I know it's not about the money, cause you get more money from the diner, so don't pretend –"

"– I'm fixing up your damn birthday present!" Dean half yells, breathing hard. "Hell if I know why."

Then he walks out the door, slams it behind him and goes to sit in the Impala to breathe. He fucking hates arguing, but Sam's so frigging argumentative… and can't he just give him a damn break? All he gets is Sam guilt tripping him about _college. _And if he brings up the 'it's what Dad would have wanted' card one more time Dean's gonna scream, because he's been following his Dad's orders without question since he was six and he feels like he's earned the right to _ignore them _if he wants to.

And there goes Sammy's surprise birthday present, which Bobby will probably bust him for. Not as much as his Dad would have done though. He can practically hear the argument.

_You can't even keep a damn secret for a few weeks, Dean?_

_ Won't happen again, Sir, sorry sir. _

_You bet it won't, Dean. Next time, I'm not telling you shit._

He wants a drink, but at some point he's gotta drive them both home, so instead he fumbles around to find his cigarettes.

He accidentally picked up smoking the first time Sam disappeared for more than a week, and Sam gave him such hell for it that he quit. Until Sam ran away again… and then they ended up back in his hand like an old friend. They'd had a stupid argument where Sam accused Dean of guilt tripping him by smoking whenever he left, but eventually he dropped it and they both pretended the cigarettes were a non-issue.

In the two months since the bank robbery, he's been smoking on the sly to avoid further arguing. Right now, though, he can't bring himself to care. He's tired and wrung out and so fed up of arguing with his family that it hurts.

Pulling the lighter from his pocket disturbs the piece of paper with the French on from Cas, too. He reads over it a few times as he lights up his cigarette, his gaze blurring over Castiel's handwriting for a few long seconds before he decides, to hell with it, and grabs his French dictionary.

_Anna and Gabriel left. I do not know where they are. Michael and Lucifer disagree frequently. We have very different opinions so I moved here to escape. Sam told me about the car accident you were involved in. I am very sorry about your father. _

He's pretty sure that Cas could have delivered the same sentiment in long, smooth sentences, but Dean appreciates the simplicity. From Cas, it doesn't seem patronising.

He drops his mostly smoked cigarette out the window, staring at the note.

_I am very sorry about your father. _

Yeah, well, sorry never resurrected anyone.

Sam taps on the window of the Impala. Dean rolls down the other window.

"Are you translating French?" Sam asks.

"What's it to you, shortstack?" Dean asks, "Cas would only tell me about his family in French, the little bitch. So, you told him about Dad, huh?"

"He asked," Sam says, pulling open the door and falling into the seat next to him.

Back when, all necessarily emotional talks were all centred around the Impala.

After Dean had found Sam wherever he'd been saying, Sam would always want to talk. Dean was never sure whether he was supposed to be angry, or relieved, or what he was supposed to say to get Sam to stay next time. Mostly, every time there was just so much _hurt. _Dean would throw Sam's shit into the trunk a little too aggressively and refuse to speak for the next thirty miles.

Eventually, they'd stop, get out, talk it out.

"I'm sorry I'm nagging, Dean," Sam says, "I just want you to take college seriously."

"I get that," Dean says, his voice gruff, "I've just got a lot going on."

"Yeah," Sam says, "I know, Dean,"

"I got you some vegetables,"

"I could make dinner?"

"I got _me_ a burger." Sam huffs a laugh. "You wanna go see your car? Now the surprise is all ruined anyway?"

"Yeah," Sam says, with a tentative grin, "You're the best, Dean."

"I'm awesome," Dean agrees, "just don't start crying there, Samantha. I won't have my baby subjected to that chick flick crap."

"Yet you'll happily smoke your cancer sticks,"

"Oh, give me a break," Dean says, pushing open the door the Impala and shutting her behind him. He pulls out his phone, distracted.

"What are you doing?"

"Mind your own business, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam returns, making a grab for Dean's phone.

"I'm messaging Cas, you nosy dick."

"You boys finish with your cat fight?" Bobby asks, shutting his front door and stalking across the grass towards the garage. "Y'idjits."

"Yeah, Bobby, we're done," Dean says, fingers faltering slightly at his phone.

_Finished my damn homework. Jo says you're on shift tonight. Try not to poison anyone without my expert supervision._

Sam practically giggles with excitement when he sees the car, even though it's still bashed up and probably won't work for another couple of weeks. He's such a freaking girl, though, and Dean barely regrets blurting it all out, cause Sam's been suspicious enough already. _Screw what Dad would have said. _

"Maybe you can help me do her up," Dean says, eventually, "if you got time between doing your homework and painting your nails."

Sam pulls him into a hug and wraps his arms around him, beaming, which Dean takes for a yes. Sam bounces back from arguments pretty easily, but it's still weighing pretty heavily at the back of Dean's mind. He wants another cigarette.

"You're breaking my heart, here," Bobby complains, rolling his eyes.

_Je voudrais continuer à t'aider avec le français. Semaine prochaine ? Lundi matin ?_

Fuck, Dean thinks, squinting at the screen of his phone.

He shouldn't have left his French dictionary in the car.

* * *

_I got my edits done and I sent them off and my editor likes them so YAY. Also, I'm going to be getting my friend to check this terrible translator-happy french when she next comes online as it's been... five years since I did any French and I was pretty bad at it then. So, if you do know French, do excuse it..._

Edit: thanks to Persephone's Pomegranate, my friend and Sweet Nightmare the french should now be passable.


	5. Chapter 5

With the surprise dead in the water, Sam's birthday passes without much fanfare. Dean gets him a fancy deck of cards because he didn't technically pay for the car and Sam 'used to be into that magician shit.' Ellen and Jo buy him a bunch of books that Dean told them he needed and Bobby managed to pull out a couple of photos of them all together when Sam was a baby. Dean accused Bobby of being soft by producing the most sentimental present, but Sammy's eyes glaze over and Dean realises all over again that there's only two of them left. It's Sam's first birthday as a full on orphan and that _sucks. _

It takes him two attempts to gain his driver's licence (which Dean is never gonna let him forget) and a couple more days before Dean's nerves have calmed enough that he'll let drive himself to school (which Sam will never let him forget). And yeah, Dean currently has Sam texting him to inform him every time he gets in and out of the car, but he's getting used to the idea.

In the meantime, he's learnt a hell of a lot about Castiel's family through decoded notes written in French. He knows that Gabriel left the second he became an adult and Anna left soon after. He knows Cas receives letters from them occasionally but they never leave a return address. He knows Castiel was studying Theology at a University near home before he dropped out and came to the KU, unable to stick it out with Michael and Lucifer any longer. He knows that Castiel's Dad disappeared a long time ago.

(When he asked _what _they argued about, Castiel said 'religious differences' and Dean hadn't got a clue what he was supposed to say about that).

In turn, Dean's been constructing notes in poor French about his own situation. He told Cas that his mother died in a house fire when he was six… although, given how terrible his French is, he's pretty sure it was more like 'mother die. Fire in the house. Sammy, Six months. Me, six' and Cas, being awesome, didn't once ask him about his feelings, and instead focused on correcting his grammar and verb tenses. He managed a whole paragraph about his Dad… about how he used to be a marine until he decided to get married and have a family, how he was pretty messed up after Mary Winchester died, how he was more like Sam than Dean and how he earned his money in questionable ways if he earned anything at all. He got through 'beaucoup d'alcool' and 'de nombreux arguments' and Castiel barely reacted.

And, somehow, he wound up getting better at French and talking about his family without realising he was doing either, which makes Castiel all kinds of awesome and Sam super happy.

His grades are up a little cause Sam being able to drive himself too and from school means he can be more flexible with his shifts, so he can actually attend a bunch more classes. Plus, now he's finally getting French his motivation is up… but what's really awesome is that now Sammy can join them at the Roadhouse even when he's working late, leaving just before it gets dark, which means they can hang out pretty much as much as they like.

Now, Sam's just finished getting Dean to check over his math – which is one thing Dean's actually pretty good at, at least at Sam's level of maths – and is sat at the bar drinking some girly fruit juice crap. Moments before, Jo had come in – off shift and bored – and decided that the group of girls were looking at Dean as if 'they were wishing this was the sort of place they did body shots' before Cas, looking grumpy, gone to take their drink orders. None too politely.

"Don't mind Cas," Dean says, smiling as he slides over towards them to do damage control (because Cas isn't very good with customers, or drink orders, or _bar work_), "He's new. Hasn't got the polite thing yet."

"Dunno about Cas," The brunet says, "but I certainly don't mind you…"

"Dean," Dean fills in.

"Dean," she say, leaving a slightly too generous tip before heading off to one of the tables. He passes the tip over to Cas, rolling his eyes because, yeah, he likes babysitting Cas… but he is utterly useless.

"Be nice, Cas."

"Don't worry," Sam grins, "Dean _hates _body shots."

"Really?" Jo asks.

"Ever since… where was it, Dean, Illinois? Where you worked at that bar…"

"Shut your pie hole, Sam,"

"… and they _did _body shots. So Dean declares that it's his favourite job of all time and he's always going on about how awesome it was, and then there was this hen party –"

" – I can still ground your ass, Sam –"

" – and the bride-to-be took the body shot, then threw up _all over him."_

"Sam!"

"I'm just saying," Sam grins, "there's no danger of that."

"You _suck," _Dean half yells, but Cas' expression has soften and Jo is laughing. At him, sure, but there is something to said for seeing her grin.

"Your abs that gross, Dean?"

"My abs are a freaking works of art," Dean says, pulling up his t-shirt to demonstrate because it seems appropriate. His abs _are _awesome.

"Hot damn, Winchester," Ash interjects, wondering over the bar his for his usual top up. Dean had once been dubious that such high quantities of alcohol could possibly be good for Ellen's accounts, but the guys at genius. Just… usually a drunk genius.

"When was that?" Sam asks, "How old were you?"

"Twenty one."

"You weren't,"

"Yeah, well, that's what I told them."

He takes another look at Cas. He never would have thought Cas would be so uptight he'd get all moody about body shots, but the figures the guy does come from a super-religious family who outlawed pretty much everything Dean tends to do. And fell out over _religious differences. _

"I wanna get a job," Sam says, and Dean nearly drops the glass he's holding.

"No."

"Wow," Jo says, glancing between them, "I'm _so _out of this conversation."

She slips out back and, yeah, Dean wishes he could do a runner on this one too.

"Dean, Sam says, puppy eyes out. He has this expression where his eyes get all wide and serious, and the subtext is all 'I understand how you feel' and it makes Dean want to punch something. Not Sam, though.

"It ain't happening, Sammy."

"You had a job when you were my age."

Or two, or four.

"I didn't have a _choice_,"

"I wanna help out with the money."

"No."

"Dean, even if I just worked a couple of hours a week, that'd mean you could get to more of your classes –"

" – I got it covered, Sam –"

" – but if I could just – "

" – you're sixteen, Sam, you're not earning your keep."

"You did."

"And Dad should never have put that crap on me! You get a job, Sam, you can say goodbye to your matheletes and all that the geeky crap. Forget football. Forget glee club."

"Dean, I don't… I just want to help out with the bills and rent…"

"I ain't taking your damn money."

"Why not?"

"You think that the CPS are gonna like that I'm charging you rent?"

"That's bull," Sam says, "you're just trying to get out of college."

"I didn't drop out of school so you'd end up going exactly the same thing, Sam. You're not getting a job. And if you do get one, I ain't touching a single dollar. End of conversation."

"It wasn't your responsibility –"

"– yeah, Sam it was. No one else was gonna do it, so that fell on me. Now shut up before I chuck you out for being underage."

Sam expression crumples. Dean wants to feel guilty, he does, but he's _not _having Sam working. The fact that Sam even wants to feels a bit like being stabbed, cause Sam is supposed to just _know _the Dean's got it covered. He doesn't want Sam worrying about any of that stuff at all. Sam's moody and prissy when he dismounts the bar stool and heads over to one of the tables.

Castiel looks pretty disapproving. Dean's about to ask where the hell he gets off, because he always seems to be there when Sam starts spilling the family secrets (because Sam trusts him, Dean's pretty sure, but still) and he never once asked him for a judgement on all this stuff.

"Hey," Jo says, and she's back, "I found someone outside who says he knew John, Dean. Gordon Walker? Says you know him."

"Yeah," Dean says, suddenly distracted. _Gordon. Crap._

"You need to go talk to him?"

"Uh," He says, glancing at the door, then he catches sight of Gordon heading over to the bar. "Is your Mom out?"

"Supply run," Jo says, "Why…?"

That's definitely something he doesn't want to go over with Cas in earshot. He may have told Cas quite a bit about things, but there's a difference between saying that his Dad was sometimes involved in some dodgy stuff… to talking to Gordon Walker in front of him. Jo's unsure expression says it all, because Gordon's the kind of guy you can tell is messed up in the grapefruit; within five minutes you can work out that he's some kind of criminal. With what Cas already knows, it's not gonna take much to put the pieces together.

But, yeah, they got history. John Winchester didn't work with Gordon much and always added a 'keep out of his way, Dean' to jobs they _did _work, but they were sort of friends… and not in the way that Ellen and Bobby were friends, either, cause John hadn't spoken to either of them for years before the crash.

"You don't look to please to see me, Dean," Gordon says, voice deep and commanding, "Now, what's say you let this lovely lady cover your shift so we can catch up? That Sammy, over there? Didn't your Daddy always say he was gonna be tall?"

"Well, we're still waiting that one out."

"Pity," Gordon says.

"You ditched your phone lately?" Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

He exchanges a look with Jo, trying (and failing) to ignore Cas completely, and he thinks she gets the message; Ellen's gonna be pretty pissed if she knows Dean's been talking to Gordon, but he really wants to talk to him a minute. Just a minute. Not least because, for months, Dean's been wondering why the _hell _Gordon didn't show for the funeral.

"I got your message, if that's what you mean," Gordon says, "was wrapped up in a job in Texas. Been laying low. Figured you'd be here, or someone would be able to tell me where you boys were at so we could drink to your old man. Drinks on me, fellas,"

"Sammy, get over here," Dean calls, stepping out from behind the bar. Sam's expression turns from pissed to downright livid in like two seconds, which isn't all that surprising. He never really made it a secret how much he hates Gordon.

"You still too young for a real drink, Sammy?"

"It's_ Sam_,"

"No offence meant, Sam," Gordon says, "let's get a table."

He picks one far too close to the bar, which Dean isn't mad happy with, but there's nothing he can do. Then Gordon's ordered a couple of shots and two beers (and Sam another coke) and, yeah, he probably shouldn't be drinking much on shift… but it's _Gordon_.

"I hear you're in college, Dean,"

"Yeaah," Dean says.

"And your Dad always said Sammy was the smart one,"

"Yeah, yeah, he is."

"Dean's –"

"– always been more like us," Gordon says, "I ain't saying you're wrong, Sam. You're just different."

"I'm not gonna bring you guys down," Sam says, although quite clearly he'd very much like to tell Dean exactly what he thinks, "I'm heading back."

"Yeah," Gordon says, "It's probably past your bedtime anyway."

"Sam," Dean says, because he hates leaving things bad with Sam, even if it's just for the rest of the evening. He passes over the keys to the Impala and Sam _almost _smiles as they swap car keys, but not quite. "And remind me to beat the buzz kill out of you later, okay?"

"Now, Winchester, are you buying the next round or am I?"

ooo

"So, me and Sammy are in the car, parked a street away from this station where Dad's got himself called in for questioning," Dean's saying, finishing his third beer, "and Dad comes round the haring round the corner. The car's already on and I'm ready to hit the accelerator, but Dad stops and he tells Sammy to get out the car. The adrenalines pumping, right, cause we _just _jumped the bill for this motel… and, yeah, they're can't pin anything on Dad, but they're still gonna be keeping an eye on him and when the Motel calls the police, we're screwed. So Sam's practically shaking and he gets out, and Dad goes 'I ain't riding in the backseat of my own car, you hear me son?'"

Gordon's laughing and Dean can feel a heat blossoming in his chest. He hasn't talked about Dad since the accident. Sam's dragged him through a few stupid conversations, but Sam doesn't get it. Sam never hero worshipped the guy and only ever focused in on all the bad stuff… he doesn't remember riding through the night, Metallica turned up loud, just because.

"So Sam barks back 'yes Sir' and then the _second _he's in the back, I'm hitting the accelerator. We hear the sirens right after we hit the highway and we don't stop driving till we get to Pennsylvania. I drive straight for ten hours before swapping with Dad and then I'm climbing in the backseat and I'm thinking… _I'm eighteen. _I've stopped in shitty motels in every state.I've worked every shitty job there is. And I've seen more of American than most people will see in their lives."

"That's the life," Gordon grins, "your brother don't get that." Now that he's stopped talking, he can zero in on the bad stuff. When he says they didn't stop driving till Pennsylvania he means pretty much literally… they had toilet stops every time they stopped for gas, and a few minutes to pick up supplies whilst Dad was filling her up, but their Dad wouldn't stop for proper food till they got there. Sam wound up sick. Dean didn't sleep for more than four hours the whole time. "I got this job going up in Kansas City. Real money spinner."

"Thought you came out here to drink to my Dad,"

"Yeah," Gordon says, "did a bit of dollar sniffing out on the way."

"Ah, crap," Dean says, half standing up, because Ellen's back and she's having a loud argument with Jo and it's almost definitely his fault. Jo throws a dishtowel at Ellen and leaves, loudly, slamming out of the backdoor.

"You done slacking off, Dean?" Ellen asks.

"Hey," Gordon says, standing up, "I'm sorry, Ellen, I'll let your boy get back to work. Just wanted to pass on my condolences,"

"Well, you done that now." The subtext is 'get out of my damn pub' but it's not said out loud. Everyone knows that Ellen puts up with a couple of shady characters, but not types like Gordon. He's bad news.

"About that job, Winchester," Gordon says, pausing at the bar, "you want in?"

He could take the job. Usually, with Gordon it's just low level stolen goods or whatever; the kind of thing where you can forget there's a victim till you can't sleep at 4AM. He could take a bunch of shifts off at the diner and actually go to class, or put the money away from Sam's college fund. But, it's not like back then… normally, he could have just dumped town if he slipped up and wound up on someone's CCTV and, even if they caught him, he could deal with the consequences easy. The CPS made it pretty damn clear that if Dean got involved in anything shady then he loses guardianship, as if they were slightly aware of their dubious past despite the fact that there ain't a damn black mark on Dean's record.

And, yeah, they have back up. If they ruled Dean couldn't look after Sam, Ellen or Bobby were gonna fight for custardy… but he's not sure he can live through fucking up that bad. Not when Sam's settled.

"Nah," Dean says, staring straight at Gordon, "I'm out."

"If you're sure," Gordon says, "I'd have thought you'd wanna put a little more away for your brother's college fund, but if you want out…"

"Well," Dean says, heart thudding, "you thought wrong."

"Guess you're not all that much like your Daddy after all."

"Guess not," Dean says, lips tight. He wants to hit something.

Gordon pays his tab and leaves without tipping him and Dean's suddenly remembering how much of a dick Gordon Walker actually is. It's just, he needed to connected his life now to the life with his Dad, just for a minute, cause he can barely remember who he is any more.

And now Sammy's gonna be pissed for days.

"You did the right thing, Dean," Ellen says, quiet and mothering, as she passes him a beer.

"Can I take five?" Dean asks.

Ellen nods, so two minutes later he's sat in the Impala smoking. He finishes the beer and fumbles around for his hipflask cause, yeah, he needs a proper drink right now. Five minutes passes and he can't handle it in the Roadhouse yet, so he just stays sat there.

He can't stand being stationary. He needs to hit the road and drive. He needs Sammy in the passenger seat, bitching about his music taste and occasionally singing along. He wants _out _of Kansas.

After thirty minutes of feeling sorry for himself, smoking and drinking slightly more than he intended, he heads back inside. Apparently, the shots with Gordon and the straight whiskey in the Impala is enough to push him over to _drunk,_ but he's pretty sure he's earned the right to be drunk if he wants to be drunk. And besides, who's gonna notice?

"Well, you sure as shit aint driving yourself home like that, Winchester," Ellen says.

Ellen, evidentially.

He's absolutely and a hundred percent so done with arguing with people he loves, so he decides it's better just to shut up and sit down. He's also pretty damn certain that Ellen will try and kill him if he gets back to work, and Ellen is one bad-ass-scary mother figure.

He knows he smells of smoke and he's pretty sure he can see Cas wrinkling his nose up slightly. Well, it was only a matter of time before Cas realised that Dean is too broken and crappy to be worth his time. He probably overheard part of the conversation with Gordon, too, so he's probably never gonna talk to Dean again and that's just _fine _because he doesn't need anyone, and he sure as hell don't need _Cas. _

"I will give Dean a lift home later," Cas says.

"Get him out of my sight now," Ellen says, "I'll pay you for a full shift, don't you worry Novak."

"You're two staff members down,"

"It's been a while since I got behind the bar," Ellen says, "and, Dean, you're off shift tomorrow night. Talk to your brother."

"Alright, _mom." _It comes out a little less sarcastic and derogative than he intends, which he blames on the fact that he's drunk too much. Ellen cuffs him on the upside of the head and rolls her eyes, but there's too much sympathy clogging up her expression. He's fine, though. He's actually fine.

"Don't wanna get in your car, Cas," Deans says as they walk across the parking lot, "It's embarrassing."

"There's nothing wrong with my car, Dean," Castiel says and, yeah, his voice is prissy and angry too.

"Apart from everything," Dean complains, making a face. Castiel is silent as he climbs into the driver's seat. "You mad at me too, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel says, staring out the front of the car.

"Well?" Cas looks at him like he's slightly crazy, which is pretty rich coming from _Cas._ "Hit me with it," Dean demands, "I can take it."

"You are unreasonable, Dean. I do not think you should let Sam work, but your continued insistence to keep things from him is ridiculous. You should have left your father years ago," Castiel says, his usual gravel wrecked voice cutting right through him, "There are people that care about you, Dean, and you should have accepted their help. Ellen would have taken both of you in. Instead, you kept Sam on the road, disrupted his education and exposed him to dangerous people like Gordon Walker. You continually state that Sam is your responsibility, but you acted selfishly in trying to keep the three of you together when clearly it would have been better for all of you if you had _left." _

It's all true. Of course it is.

And how many times had Sam begged him? He knows that's what the running away was about. He knows the first time he split up from John Winchester to go find Sam; he shouldn't have bothered to go back. He knows _damn _well that when John disappeared, he shouldn't have tried to find him. He knows he shouldn't have kept trying with something that was already dead.

He knows he let Sam down.

He'd done research into it, sure. He was gonna get himself declared as an emancipated teen and get Dad to sign over custardy – because he would have done – then cut and run back to Kansas. But he couldn't do that… not even because he couldn't do that to his Dad, he just couldn't do it _period. _So they got stuck in this stupid cycle, with Sam stopping talking in schools, and the arguments, and him running away and Dean dragging him back.

So yeah, he fucked up.

Except, he doesn't wanna hear that. He doesn't want to hear that from Cas. He can't explain the tie his Dad's always had over him and, damn, he was just trying to be a good son and make his Dad proud, but it all keeps going to shit.

"Yeah, okay," Dean says, and he doesn't feel drunk anymore. He thinks he might cry, but then again he might actually be too dead inside to do that.

Cas' lips fix into a straight line and he drives him home in silence.

* * *

Next chapter: Dean is a massive idiot. And we learn about what happened in the bank robbery.


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes up just before midday feeling like crap.

After Castiel's little speech, he drank an inadvisable quantity of whiskey and passed out on the sofa which, yeah, isn't seeming like the best idea now that he's hungover. He feels like someone stuck a knife in his left eye and he's pretty sure he didn't fetch _himself _the blanket, which means Sammy must have done… so Sam's no doubt gonna bust his ass when he gets home later.

He makes a grab for his phone, thinking maybe Cas has text to apologise… but no, instead he's got nothing but a message from Ellen reminding him he has tonight off (which is probably for the best, cause he's not sure he could deal with serving up alcohol in the foreseeable future) and a text from Sam informing him he's staying at his friend's house tonight and will be back on Saturday morning.

He can't exactly stop Sam. He did whatever the hell he liked when he was sixteen and, anyway, he's not gonna be one of those tight assed parents (no matter how much Ellen mocks him for his worrying).

He calls Ellen to apologise. She tells him that he's got his work cut out with getting Jo to forgive him, because she is evidentially really pissed. The last time Jo was mad at him, she was fifteen and John Winchester had just got her Dad arrested and then they didn't speak for five years, even at the funeral… so, he's not really sure how to diffuse a pissed of Jo. Sam's usually better at the sort of thing. He's pretty sure Sam's not gonna help him out, though.

He calls Jo. She yells at him down the phone and says he owes her all his tips (or 'flirt money' as she calls it) for the next week, which he can live with.

He tries to call Sam whilst he's still on his lunch, but he doesn't pick up.

He gives up and turns on the television, except that even Dr Sexy isn't making him feel better (he reminds him of Cas for some indeterminate reason that he doesn't really want to think about) so after watching an embarrassing number of episodes back to back and still feeling shitty, he forces himself off the sofa and into the shower.

At about the time Sam would be finishing school, Dean goes out and buys a week's supply of rabbit food and a couple of DVDs. He calls Sam three more times and gets no answer before he gives up. If Sam doesn't want to talk to him, he's not going to talk to him, and that's that.

It's not surprising. From Sam's point of view, Dean shot him down about working, had a cosy get together with Gordon, got home and got drunk. If Sam had done the same, he'd be suitably pissed.

He gets pizza for dinner and, by that point, the hangover has receded enough to make way for the shitty, dead feeling at the bottom of his gut.

Sam's staying at his freaking _friend's house _and all Dean wants to do is drive solidly for eight hours in one direction before turning round and heading straight back. Sure, the moment when he had to turn around would suck, but the hours of just _driving _before then would be awesome; a whole night spent in his baby with Metallica turned up loud.

Except it'd probably be too reminiscent of those times Sam ran away and Dean had to desperately skip between states trying to find him, or else Dean will start thinking too much about the crash. Besides, he's not sure he could afford to squander all the money on gas without due justification.

Dean rings Ellen to ask if he can work tonight. He says that Sam's at a friend's house and doesn't want to talk to him, so there's not point him not working.

She tells him to get a damn life and enjoy himself for a change.

Dean rings Bobby.

"What the hell you want me to do, boy?" Bobby demands, "or you just phoning to whine."

He is, when he thinks about it, so he hangs up fairly quickly and decides just to suck it up. He can't just drive in case something happens and Sam needs him to pick him up and he can't work at Ellen's and he can't face the Roadhouse (he doesn't think that's what Ellen meant when she told him to get a life)…

But, there's plenty of other bars in Lawrence.

It's the kind of logic that makes Sam go all disapproving, but Sam's at his friend's house and Dean may or may not have a crippling fear of aloneness. Not always, but he doesn't associate anything good with being alone… it either meant that Dad was missing, or Sam was missing, and he was always trying to round them up again and reunite them. If he was alone, something was usually wrong. Sam was different. Sam _liked _being alone, which Dean tries (and fails) not to interpretation as a failure on his behalf.

When Dean orders his first drink, he's thinking about how he's always the one trying to keep everyone together whilst everyone else is trying to get as far away from him as possible. It's a brutal thought that burns almost as much as the first double.

OOO

The only reason he was at the bank that damn day was become they'd ran out of money.

Sure, you looked at it from the right angle Dean had been supporting them since he could bullshit way into a job, but that was always with a time limit. Dean just had to keep them afloat until they skipped town, usually with a whole host of unpaid bills and pissed off employees. It had been a relief when their Dad finally pissed off someone dangerous enough that it warranted a move, because it meant they had a clean slate and he could stop sending Sammy to the door to deal with the motel owner claiming the credit card had bounced.

Now they'd been in Kansas for nearly four months, so Dean was arguing with a bloke in the bank.

"I understand," Dean said, "but you're not hearing me. I can pay, but I can't pay right now. I've got three jobs, for Christ's sake, but I need the credit card –"

"– I'm sorry, Mr Winchester, but –"

Son of a bitch.

"I've got a brother," Dean said, digging into his jacket pocket to pull out this picture of Sammy, because his puppy eyes could win anyone over (and had been instrumental in Dean securing legal guardianship, and getting Sam into a decent school even though no one could find records of the last year of his education, which wasn't all that surprising), "and we've been living in a motel. I'm trying to get us a flat, see – "

And then there was gunfire.

Dean turned around, base instinct making him take a step backwards, and suddenly everyone was panicking.

"This is not a robbery!" The guy yelled. "Everybody on the floor, now!"

The guy – short, long hair, kind of chunky – looked half mad, gun perilously swinging round to face the members of the public, eye wild.

000

"Work or love?" The barmaid asks, pouring him a second double, "it's definitely something."

"Family," Dean says, through a grimace. She raises an eyebrow at him like she's surprised. He's too young to have a family of his own, but probably too old to be drinking consecutive double scotches over an argument with his parents. "My little brother," Dean continues, staring down his drink, "he's gonna leave for college."

He's pissed at himself for even getting strung up about this. Sammy _should _go to college and Dean's always known he'd bugger off as soon as possible, because that's just how Sam is. That hasn't changed just because Dad's dead… Sam still wants to run away and get away from the lot of them, and Dean can hardly blame him. It's not like he's really worth sticking around for. And it's even more stupid that this train of thought has been spurred on just because Sam is _staying at a friend's house. _

"You dangerously co-dependent or something?"

"Or something," Dean says, feeling the familiar burn of the liquid in his throat as it goes down. "Our parents… well, they're gone. It's just us."

The barmaid pours him another scotch.

He was herded into the middle of the room with everyone else in the bank, and he'd gotten onto his knees like he was instructed, but there was something about the whole thing that was off. Not the fact that he'd somehow wound up in the middle of a bank robbery, because there was all kinds of things wrong with that, but the guy didn't seem to have a damn clue what to do next.

And that scared him.

He recognised the raw terror in the guy's eyes; that desperation. He'd been dragged into his Dad's messes since he was seven or eight, so he knew something about what kind of people were dangerous and what kind of people aren't. Most people who robbed banks were just greedy, but not particularly inclined to hurt anyone… but this guy was desperate, and panicking, and pointing a gun at a bunch of damn civilians faces.

"Hey, hey," Dean said, hands held up. The guy whirled around, gun pointing at his damn face, but at least then it wasn't pointed at anyone else. "Hey, buddy why don't you _calm down._" He moved slightly, shuffling away from the others. The guy with the gun moved the gun on reflex, holding it up.

"This is… not a robbery!"

"Okay," Dean said, "okay, okay… man, let's just talk about this a sec."

"Get down, I'll shoot you!"

"Nobody's shooting anyone," Dean said, "So, it's not a robbery. Okay. I believe you. What's going on?"

"I need… I need to find something."

"Okay," Dean said, "okay. Where are you gonna start?"

There was a bunch of people looking at him like he was crazy, but he stretched out a little more into a proper standing position and the guy didn't shoot him. So, he was stood in the middle of a bank with a guy pointing a gun at his face, but he seemed to have taken a breather and calm down slightly.

As long as the guy was calm, no one should die.

_No one's gonna die. _

"No one's getting in or out,"

"I hear you," Dean said, slowly, "okay. Take me… take me as your hostage, okay?"

"Pat him down," The guy told one of the others, and suddenly the dick who'd been refusing to give him a credit card earlier was up on his feet and checking him for weapons. Credit-Card dick gave him a 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing' look, and Dean isn't really sure how he'd answer that even if he could.

"Okay," the guy said, slowly, "but everyone else in the vault! Everyone in the vault!"

And that was when the power went out.

000

He's drunk.

He hates Kansas and holding down proper jobs for extended periods of time and dragging his ass to college. He hates that Sammy's always mad at him, and Sam can repackage it any way he likes, but the fact is Sam is still hurting over the fact that Dean put their Dad first. Sam was vulnerable, upset and a _kid _and Dean dragged him through years of that because _he _wanted them to stick together as a family.

Cas is right.

And he knows that's the reason why he let contact with Bobby and Ellen drop. It was easy to convince himself that was giving Ellen and Jo space after what happened to Jo's Dad, but he was out of prison in a couple of months and dead within another (lung cancer) and they stopped by for two hours to come to the funeral before he was putting Sam in back of the car and driving for two days (John Winchester didn't come). He was absolutely terrified that half an hour of conversation with Ellen and she'd insist that they stay, because Sam was a little more withdrawn and Dean was a little too skinny.

That's on him.

000

Somehow, volunteering to be a hostage had morphed into trying to help Ron _not _fuck himself over royally.

It was pretty likely that the guy had gotten himself a fair amount of time inside, but providing he didn't shoot anyone everything was going to be okay. Besides, after spending the last few hours with the bloke, he'd come to the conclusion that Ron was a complete fruit loop; he was looking for the _mandroids, _for fuck's sake.

When he got out of this, he'd tell Sam all about these supposed Mandroids and they'd laugh about it. Sam would tell him off for getting involved, but he'd be secretly kind of pleased… cause to Sammy he'd always been a hero, even when he wasn't

He was gonna sure no one got hurt.

When the whole thing was done, Ron was gonna go with the police. He was probably going to be classified as batshit crazy and they'd help him.

_No one was gonna get hurt._

And if Ron was pointing a gun at him in the meantime, at least that meant the gun wasn't pointing at anyone else.

000

It's at least six kinds of stupid, but he absolutely feels like doing something stupid right now. And yeah, he's a couple of hundred up from hustling pool (when you take out the drink money), which means he should stop before he pisses someone off big time... but he has exactly zero motivation to do so.

It's difficult to tell whether he wants to punch someone in the face, or whether he wants someone to punch _him _in the face, but either way a fight sounds absolutely freaking fantastic.

Why is he that much of a failure that everyone he loves is always trying to freaking leave him? He spent years trying to persuade Dad that maybe he might be worth a little more than his poxy quest for revenge and drinking himself into oblivion, but his Dad just kept leaving. He spent his whole life trying to please the man and he always turned out as such a disappointment. He did _everything _for Sammy, always, because that was his job… but he still fucked up and Sam spent two years trying to run away, only managing it for a few weeks – maybe a month – at a time, before Dean managed to track him down.

"You got a problem?" The man who won't pay him says, pressing his knuckles into his palm with a grimace.

"Yeah," Dean returns, "you owe me some money."

"Do I?"

"Yeah," Dean says, "though if you need me to explain the rules of pool, man, you just let me know –"

" – well that sounds like the kind of conversation we should have outside,"

"Well, I could do with some fresh air," Dean says, winking at the barmaid on the way out, fists clenching all ready. Except, somewhere after the fourth double scotch he lost his usual instincts, so whilst he's aiming for another smart-ass comment, the other guy is already drawing back his fists.

000

He fucked up.

He said the wrong thing at the wrong time and Ron panicked and shoots. There was some security guy that got in the way, and he was bleeding out on the floor with a bullet in his chest and everyone was panicking.

Ron was sweating and losing it and waving his gun around. He won't listen to Dean anymore. Besides, now he was fucked because that was a _chest wound _and there was too much blood for it not to be fatal. Dean could tell, straight up, that that guy was gonna die in the next few minutes and it was his fault because if anyone was gonna get shot it should have been him. He should have jumped the bullet or –

Ron stepped out towards the guy on the floor. Dean was half way through telling him _to stop, for God's sake _but, again, he fucked up, because he can hear the gunshot.

_Police Sniper. Chest wound._

000

The guy's fist connects with his face again.

The article in the paper said that Ronald Resnick was a dangerous, delusional man. The article says that Dean stepping in saved people's lives. The article said Dean was brave and acted selfishly out of a feeling of duty.

The article in the paper is full of jack.

000

He's fighting back, now, and he probably would have won (at least, he could have)… except the guy gets him in his bad shoulder – the one Dean messed up badly in the car crash – and the pain blossoms out, blinding him for a moment.

He's stumbling backwards

000

The thing was, he didn't do it because he wanted to be a hero. The bitter truth that Sammy kept trying to get him to talk about was that _heroics _barely came into it at all. It was just the fact that Dean is so _goddamn _worthless that he's gotta prove himself by saving every damn person he can. And if it got him killed, then at least he went down doing something important.

If someone was gonna get shot, then it should have be him. And if someone was gonna bleed out on that bank floor, it shouldn't have been the security guard and it shouldn't have been Ronald Resnick.

It should have been him.

000

The guy who wouldn't pay him is _really _laying into him and Dean can't move his arm. He's pretty sure It's dislocated again, because the hot nurse at the hospital said that could happen, but it doesn't really matter right now.

The guy's fist slams into his jaw… and then the waitress he was flirting with before is suddenly out front, saying she's called the police and an ambulance, and Dean can't really move but he _really _wants a cigarette.

"They ambulance will be here in a minute, Dean," The girl says and the hilarious part about it is _she's _pissed at him too and, maybe, if this had been a slightly different night and he hadn't been feeling so self-destructive, he might have got laid instead.

He's half way through thinking of some viable way he can still flirt, even when he's spitting blood, when he passes out.

* * *

_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, so now I'm going away to China for like two weeks. So... sorry about the cliff hanger-esque ending? Thanks for reading :)_


	7. Chapter 7

The last time Dean was in hospital, their Dad died.

Dean was supposed to be driving the car. He knew they were skipping town that evening and he was supposed to be good to drive the first leg, except Sam and Dad got in this stupid argument. It was the same damn thing as it always; Sam didn't wanna leave… he had friends at his new school, he said it was disrupting his grades, he said he wasn't gonna come and no one could make him. Dean tried to tell him just to _drop it _for God's sake, because they needed to leave. He told him just to _listen to Dad _for _once, Sammy… _and Dad told him to stay out of it.

So he stayed out of it.

He stayed out of it and he went to the nearest bar. He drank six doubles and two beers.

Then Dad called to say that he'd talked to Sam and they were ready to go. Dean told him where he was. Dad said 'you better not have been drinking, Dean' which Dean thought was just hilarious since John Winchester had been drinking whiskey for breakfast since Dean turned nine.

Dad showed up two minutes later and they had a yelling match outside the bar. Thing was, he just didn't argue with his father. Categorically. He just didn't. When his Dad raised his voice he just damn well agreed, whatever it was, and went along with it. They didn't _disagree. _

He was a good son.

Dean was supposed to be driving the car but, because of the stupid argument and the alcohol, he was in the back. And because of that, John Winchester took the full impact of the swerving truck. If Dean had just drunk too much and not started yelling, he would have been in the front seat… and the hot nurse told Sammy he'd be dead, too, if he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt. Course, Sam always wore his seatbelt… except Dean didn't.

If it had been any other night or any other day, or if Dean hadn't argued back, or if he hadn't drank too much, or whatever, he'd be dead. And he hasn't got one fucking clue why it happened to be _that day _and _that moment _and _those circumstances, _because the chances were a million-to-one stacked against him.

And yet, he's still alive.

ooo

"You look like you went twenty rounds with a brick wall, Dean,"

"Ellen," Dean croaks out, pulling himself up, "I'm real glad to see you, Ellen. I think the nurse is trying to kill me."

"I think you're trying to kill yourself," Ellen muttered, "and why?"

"These goddamn pain meds," Dean mutters, "Goddamn medical bill nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sam insisted,"

"That _bitch,"_

"He's got your best interest at heart,"

"He doesn't know jack shit about my interests."

"He knows that you sure as hell can't be trusted with them yourself,"

"So he's pissed, huh?" Dean asks, wincing as he sits up, "I knew that polite stuff was an act. _Damn. _Why he bother pretending to not to be mad at me when he visited, huh?"

"Cause you're in hauled up in hospital, y'idjit."

Bobby's in the doorway, looking grumpy as normal. He's been stuck in this hospital bed for three days straight and visiting hours are just _not _long enough so, yeah, he's been lonely and wallowing. Even if it's really his own fault, but he doesn't need to think about that for a little while.

"Bobby," Dean grins, "you come to practice your bedside manner, or you gonna bust me out?"

"You ain't in some temporary spot here, boy, you can't just cut and run this time."

"Yeah, I know," Dean grimaces, running his good hand across his face in frustration. There's not a way in hell he can actually afford to pay for these bloody pain meds, especially as he's not sure he can sell Pam a one-armed-waiter. So yeah, he's fucked. "Just wanna get out of here, Jesus."

"You realise you ain't gonna be able to drive for a while?"

"I'm aware," Dean grimaces, because of course his latest mistake has to rob him of everything he enjoys doing. Now he can't even drive his baby.

"You heard from Cas?" Ellen asks.

"He's busy,"

"He's pissed, that's what he is," Bobby grunts, "ain't blaming him, either."

"Yeah, I get it," Dean says, "Sammy get to school okay?"

Bobby snorts and mutters something about not checking up on him every minute of the damn day, but there's an air of humour sneaking in again. If Bobby can grumble at him instead of offering a stony silence, then they're making progress. Then, Bobby isn't very good at holding grudges… unlike Sam.

He knows he's gonna be in the dog house for the next couple of years, but he can make it up to everyone. He can fix this.

And if not, hell, he's had a Sammy-goes-to-college-backup plan ever since he nicked his brother's Diary that one time. He'd almost thrown up when he realised Sam was such a girl that he _kept a diary _('it's a journal, Dean'), but that hadn't been nearly as bad as the content: pages and pages of whiny nonsense about how he couldn't wait to leave for good.

It's almost the exact opposite of having some sense beaten into him, but a strange sense of calm has settled over him since he woke up in hospital. He's not really _worrying _about the medical bills and his dislocated shoulder at the moment, because there's nothing he can do about that now. Instead, he's all flat and calm.

It's nice, actually, not to be a hot mess underneath the surface.

Sam had been shockingly calm about everything too ('I'm waiting for you to start yelling, Sam' 'I'm not going to yell at you, Dean. It's not like you listen' 'well, I'm glad we're cleared that up') and Dean's pretty sure Sam's got himself set on a course of action that he's not gonna talk about until it's well underway, because Sam-with-a-plan is the only brand of Sam that's gonna something like that. So, he's mentally preparing himself for Sam trying to fix everything in his life, but there's nothing new there.

And Dean can deal with that. Maybe it's the pain meds, but he's actually feeling pretty good about everything right now.

ooo

As it turns out, Dean just has to sit through two more appointments with a doctor who teaches him these stupid arm stretches that he's definitely not going to do, dislocated shoulder or not, when they finally get fed up of Dean sneaking out for cigarettes and say he's free to go. Course, Ellen's in a meeting with her supplier, Jo's manning the bar and Bobby's not picking up. He calls Cas as a last resort, partially because he needs a lift home and partially because he's _missed _Cas, their last conversation non withstanding.

He tried calling Sam in between each other phone call and get's so fed up of the voicemail that he actually leaves a message, before giving up to get another lecture from his nurse about taking his pain medication. Since he's already had to give his credit card details to foot the bill (which is painful because, hell, he intervened in a bank robbery in order to get that credit card) he's tempted to actually take the prescription, but then the other part of him is arguing that he should save them for an occasion where he's in more pain than he is now.

"Cas," Dean says, glancing up at the door and taking in Castiel's usual stoic expression. Cas looks slightly irritated most of the time, anyway, but he certainly looks to be in a bad mood right now… which Dean figures is understandable, but it still sucks. "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine," Cas says, "hello, Dean."

"You are, once again, dragging my ass out of hell here," Dean says, starting to pull on his leather jacket before remembering that's a pretty impossible feet what with his arm as it is and deciding just to be cold. "Not that I deserve it."

Cas drives him home in almost complete silence and parks outside of the parking lot with the same expression.

"Cas," Dean complains, reaching out and grabbing a handful of trench coat clad arm, "Can we just… be cool again?" Dean asks, meeting his gaze and staring straight back at him. "You can come up and have a beer, if you want."

He's expecting Cas to reject the offer straight off but he agrees almost immediately, which makes Dean think maybe part of his current expression is down to guilt more than anything else. Last time they'd been in the same car, Cas had said some pretty brutal stuff and, the next day, Dean had gotten himself beaten to pulp. So, what Dean had been interpreting as cold anger might well be, at least in part, down to Cas not knowing where he stands either.

"Awesome," Dean says, "I'd apologise for the mess, but this is all on Sammy."

Dean hasn't had a proper home since he was six.

He can't really feel sorry for himself over that fact, because Sam had _never _had that (because it's not like the kid could remember his nursery). Besides, Dean liked their transitory life style; it was pretty crappy having to try and hide from Sam that their Dad… well, wasn't in with the best crowd, but Sam was smart and he eventually worked out why they kept moving. Dean _liked _the impermanence of the relationships he formed in half the states in America, because it meant ample opportunities for reinvention and slowly perfecting his can't-give-a-fuck-attitude. He'd worked out what it took to walk in a room and be instantly popular, and liked, without ever having to commit to some kind of opinion or relationship - which, no doubt, wouldn't have worked out anyway.

Once he'd gotten over the oddness of this flat in Kansas, though, Dean had begun to properly nest. They have their Dad's old guns (without any ammo, because Sammy is a bloody _kid_) mounted on one wall and the only surviving photo of all of them is tacked up over the TV. The few things they'd accumulated over the course of their travelling have pride of place, alongside the awful old sofa Bobby had donated and one of the old tables from the Roadhouse… and, with all those bits and piece from their old lives, Dean gradually stopped living out of a duffle bag.

He hadn't realised that it was possible to feel so self-conscious about his flat, though, so leading Cas into the front room makes him feel slightly uncomfortable. This is his and Sammy's place and neither of them have had anyone round here before…

Sam spreads. Dean chalks it up to the excitement over being permitted to doing so, but it's frigging annoying to have Sam's books and clothes all over everywhere. Except, as Dean tries to imagine what Cas is going to take from his newly formed home, he's beginning to register that Sam's stuff isn't _there._

After a big discussion about w_hat was best _they came to the conclusion that, whilst Dean was in hospital, Sam could have meals with Bobby or Ellen and sleep back at the apartment for weekdays (because the commute from Bobby's or Ellen's was much longer and, besides, Dean worked nights at the Roadhouse and Sammy had been able to look after himself for years), although he spent the Sunday night crashing at Bobby's place.

So, by all rights, there should be books everywhere and clothes lying haphazard and _there isn't. _

And then there's panic entirely related to the quiet resolve Sam was wearing at the hospital. _Shit shit shit shit…_. Dean throws open the door to Sam's bedroom. The wardrobe is slightly open, content halved, and his duffle bag has disappeared into the ether.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean mutters, heart thudding as he reaches for the phone. He's dialling before he's even remembered Cas is still there. He can't even really bring himself to care because _Sam, where's Sam? He's really done it this time… really fucked up – _

" – Dean," Cas says, in that gravel-wrecked voice that sort of does things to him (but now's not really the time to think about that, is it?).

"Not now," Dean cuts across, swearing as Sam doesn't answer, before dialling Ellen. She picks up on the first ring, which does wonders for his shot nerves. "He with you?"

"Yeah," Ellen says, and Dean's heart starts beating again. Everything is still icy, but it's easier to think. _He's safe he's safe he's safe._ "Got here a couple of hours ago."

Skipped school, then. _Shit. _

"Put him on the phone."

"He don't want to talk to you, Dean."

"This is family stuff, Ellen, stay out of it–"

"So you get in one fight with your brother and suddenly I'm not family?"

"Put him on the phone," Dean demands, "Sorry Cas, I just – "

Ellen has a muffled conversation with Sam that Dean can't hear, then he can hear Sam's breathing down the other end of the phone. The remaining ice defrosts. The last of his panic recedes slightly, giving way to anger. _He's okay._

"Sammy, what the hell are you trying to pull?" Dean half yells, glancing at Cas for a split second. Any normal person would have excused himself from the situation somehow… gone to sit on the sofa and pretend he couldn't hear what was happening, but of course Cas is still staring right at him. _Through him, _even.

"I left you a note, Dean." Sam's voice is prissy and pissed off, which means the conversation is probably going to take a serious turn for the worse.

Dean steps into the kitchen and, yeah, _now_ he can see the note (but Sam should have _known _he wouldn't have gone round looking for a note before the panic started). "Yeah," Dean says, reading the two lines – _can't deal with this right now, Gone to Ellen's_ – "the hell can't you deal with right now?"

"Dean," Sam says, "the way you're acting."

"The way _I'm _acting," Dean repeats, "Sam, I've been in freaking _hospital._ You're the one running away – "

" – I'm not running away from _you_."

"Newsflash, Sammy_; there's no one left but me to run from_."

He didn't really mean to yell, but now he wants to cry.

"And you're not dealing with it!" Sam yells back, loud enough that he's sure Cas can hear Sam's end of the conversation now. "You're not sleeping and you're drinking too much and you're picking up stupid shifts _and I can't watch you do that Dean._"

"I'm _fine._"

"You're not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn't have thrown yourself into that bank robbery like you didn't care if you died, because that was the only way you were going to be worth anything. I know you, Dean, and you're not okay. You got into that fight on purpose."

"I didn't," Dean says, "I was just drunk, Sammy –"

"- bullshit!" Sam said. "Dean, you –"

"How long?" Dean interjects, voice tight, "how long are you gonna need at Ellen's?"

"Just a couple of weeks."

Dean swallows. He'd thought _days _not _weeks _and now he's fucked up and Sam's gone and Dean's _alone. _And, apparently Sam can see right through him, which is a nightmare; Dean is supposed to carry the weight so that Sammy doesn't have to worry about any of this stuff. Sam isn't supposed to know that Dean is _drowning _because he didn't spend his whole life trying to look after Sam so Sam would have to look out for him. That's backwards. That's like their Dad would have done.

He's not putting any of his crap on Sam. He's just not doing it.

"Hell, Dean, you know I'd die for you –"

"-well, hell, it's not like the feeling ain't mutual, Sam –"

"No," Sammy says, "right now, you'd die for just about anything."

"Put Ellen back on the phone," Dean says, because he can't deal with this right now. He can't have this conversation with Sammy. His heart's thudding against his ribcage so loudly he can barely think and it's all just rushing panic and emotion. If he has this conversation, it's all coming back. He's got _years _of repressed shit that he hasn't had time to deal with and he's not about to go excavating now.

"Dean, we need to talk about this –"

"Seems to me, you've already made up your mind. I'm not gonna beg you to come home like some frigging housewife, Sammy."

Except, he wants to.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath which means he _knows _Dean knew the parallel with what Dad said the last time Sam ran away, and he remembers that argument as vividly as Dean does. Damn.

_You wanna run away Sam, you pack your bags. You've already made up your mind. I'm not gonna beg you to come home. You just piss off, Sam, I'm done looking._

"Dean," Ellen says, back on the phone, sounding suitably concerned. No doubt, Sam is now even more pissed. Dean blinks. Even when he's trying to clean things up he just winds up dirty.

"I'm praying rent for Sam,"

"The hell you get off, Winchester?" Ellen asks, voice rising.

"Fine, I'll work for free."

"Dean," Ellen says, and Dean's gut twists, "Sammy don't wanna see you. I'm giving your shifts to Cas and Jo until he's cooled down a bit."

"Fine," Dean says (except it's not, because he really needs the money for the new set of medical bills, and to buy some apology present for Sam), "I'll check in tomorrow."

"I ain't gonna break him, Dean. He's a big boy."

"Okay," Dean says, forcing his voice to stay in control, "I'll wait for him to call like a _frigging girl." _

Then he hangs up.

The calm that he was enjoying before shattered the instant he realised Sam had packed a bag, but now the despair of it all is breaking out over him. Mom's dead and Dad's dead and Sam's _gone _and it's his fault.

He can't even look after his _own brother _because he's too much of a fuck up. He's not gonna bring the CPS into any conversation with Sam, but if they _do _find out that Sam left for _weeks_ after an argument they're probably gonna take him away for good – that's if he ever decides to come back.

He can't compete with Ellen's homemade pie and mothering instincts.

He _thought _he was doing the right thing looking after Sam. At the time, Ellen and Bobby were virtual strangers (parental figures from half a decade ago) and Sam wasn't doing so good. He sat down with both of them and they talked about it. He sat down with the dick from CPS and talked about it. He even talked to _Sam _about it… and every conversation seemed to come up with the conclusion that, if Dean could manage it, it would be best for Sam to stay with him.

And he'd been doing it for _years _so why the hell can't he manage it now?

Maybe what Cas said applies to that too. Maybe Dean was being selfish and decided to look after Sam because he didn't want to be alone.

And, still, even after _everything _he's done to prevent it, he's actually gone and done it anyway. He's alone.

Then he's sinking back into the sofa with his eyes burning. He hasn't cried, period, since before Dad died, but the threat of tears is growing slightly.

Cas sits down next to him on the sofa and claps a hand over his shoulder and that's when the tears come.

* * *

_This is approximately half unedited, but I hope it's okay! I'm still in China for another... uh, ten days or so and internet and free time is limited. Thanks for reading!_


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby's pretty sure the damn Winchesters have taken at least twenty years of his life expectancy, because he's been worrying about them none stop since he met John over a decade ago.

He lost his wife too and it's not like he's forgotten one second of what the felt like. He ain't never had any kids and he weren't interested in them, either, except the last argument he ever had was his wife was about that – she wanted them and he was dead set against it. That does things to a guy. So when she died, he saw kids just about everywhere and he still didn't get it... they're just snot nosed brats, the lot of them.

He ain't proud of the fact that, back then, he'd fix up cars that were pretty obviously stolen without asking too many questions about it, but he don't regret it – and that's mostly because of Sam and Dean. He doesn't set much in store with fate, either, but it's a pretty big damn coincidence.

John Winchester was a dick. The first time they met, he wanted some spare part for some sub-par car and with two kids in the backseat. Sam was just some snotty toddler, then, and Dean was watching him like a hawk… but he quickly decided it was none of his damn business, gave him the spare parts, and was pretty happy to see the back of him.

The second time, John wanted him to fix up in the Impala.

And Bobby told him there wasn't a chance in hell he was touching that car, because whoever the hell he'd nicked it off was sure as shit gonna want it back. He didn't want anything to do with a Chevy Impala 67, no matter how pretty she was or how much the pay check was gonna be. No deal.

John said something back and the conversation got heated. That started off Sam crying. He remembered looking over to the damn Impala thinking _this is none of your business, Bobby _and wondering what kind of asshole let his kids ride in the backseat of a _job. _Then Dean opened the damn door and said Sam needed the toilet, pronto, unless his Daddy wanted piss all over the seats.

John Winchester blinked, like he'd forgotten he had kids and kids needed to pee.

"I thought he was toilet trained," John had said. Bobby remembers finding his embarrassment at the moment the first likeable quality to the man.

"He's gotta go now," Dean said, tugging Sam's arm (and Bobby had looked at him, and Dean had looked back, and Bobby had been pretty damn certain that _Dean w_as the one who needed the damn bathroom).

Then Bobby was smiling at this eight year old kid and grumpily offering up directions to the damn toilet. And he couldn't even convince himself it was for the sake of the Impala, either.

"You take him, Dean," John said, keeping his eye on Bobby suspiciously, "and don't touch anything."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, dragging Sam out the car. A few steps across the garage and Dean turned around and winked at him. Sam was still sniffling unhappily, thumb lodged in his mouth. As Bobby watched them walk towards his house, Dean gently pulled Sam's thumb out his damn mouth and said _something _which must have worked, because Sam looked a little more cheerful.

"It's my damn car," John said, into the silence the two boys had left in his wake, "I've had her for years."

"Why aren't them kids home with their Mommy?" Bobby asked.

"She passed," John said and there was that familiar grief stricken look that Bobby was so unwittingly attuned to, and there was something about Dean's wink which must have turned him soft. He let the kid use his bathroom. That should have been the end of it. He should have told John Winchester to leave.

"I'll fix your damn car," Bobby groused, "but if either one of your boy's messes up my toilet, you're cleaning it yourself."

Now, Sam's got the same old miserable expression plastered across his face even if he's no longer young enough to suck his thumb; it's freaking ridiculous, how they can be fourteen years on and Bobby's still trying to do some damage control. At least the damn impala _wasn't _stolen.

"Maybe I should go over there," Sam says, eyebrows raised and eyes big and vulnerable, "Bobby, he's gonna be a mess."

"Probably," Bobby agrees, grumpily, as he pours himself another whiskey.

He doesn't like this plan. He didn't like it when Sam, same wide eyed expression, bought it up at the beginning of the weekend, but it's not like they got a whole load of options. He's talked about it with Ellen and it's pretty obvious what Dean is trying to do, here, and it's not like they can just _let him _get himself killed. If this is what it takes, then it's gotta be done.

Maybe he lost out on five years of their lives, but that wasn't through lack of trying. He left more damn messages on John Winchester's answerphone than he could count. And, the once or twice he managed to get in contact with Dean (either through calling one of his contacts who'd seen John around, or getting someone to stalk through the school records), Dean was stubborn and insisted they were _frigging fantastic, Uncle Bobby, quit worrying about me and Sam – we're fine._ Then he's got Sam on the phone, crying, and telling him that Dean's unconscious and John's dead and he found his number on Dad's phone, which Dean says he's not allowed to use, and he's _really really scared, Bobby._

"Cas can handle Dean," Ellen says, frowning.

"I don't wanna give him a hard time," Sam pouts, into his soda.

"You boys have been living in each other's asses for years," Ellen says, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, "and he's been worrying about you constantly since he learnt how to read. Maybe you could both do with some space."

"I don't want him to worry about me!" Sam complains, "He doesn't _need _to worry about me."

"That's your damn problem," Bobby says, "you're both too pig-headed to realise there ain't no way you can stop worrying about each other, cause that's how family works y'idjits. Don't matter how much _space _y'give each other, Dean's still gonna wanna fall over and die for you. You boys spend so much damn time trying to convince each other you ain't broken."

Bobby takes another sip of his whiskey.

"Bobby," Sam says, pouting. Sometimes he forgets that Dean's just a kid, really, with the weight of the whole damn world on his shoulders, but Dean's done a good job at preserving some of Sam's innocence up till this point. He's treated Dean like an adult since Dean turned fifteen and that was damn unfair of him, but there ain't no way to fix those wrongs.

"He's gonna be fine, Sam," Bobby says, gruffly, "your pig-headed brother ain't gonna do anything more stupid than he's already done."

It's easy to remember that Sam is just a teenager, though, because Sam's posture visible relaxes. He's loathe to admit it, but a little time away from Dean _will _probably be good for Sam; Dean takes helicopter parenting to the extreme (not that he blames him, either, after all the things that boys lost it don't take a genius to work out why he's overprotective) and, well, Bobby thought _he _had top marks in 'Daddy Issues' before he met Dean (that whole business is something Bobby don't wanna touch). Dean was carrying Sam from burning buildings when he was six, so yeah, it's understandable that he ain't adjusting to Sam needing freedom and a little space.

Besides, Dean's got his own issues. He should've busted Dean for it earlier, but the boy just lost his father (on top of everything else) and Dean closes up and backs off whenever Bobby pushes it, so it was easier to let him sink into whatever hole he's got himself in, the idjit.

"Cas will get through to him," Sam says, swallowing.

Bobby's only met this Castiel once and he didn't know what to make of the kid, but Sam seems to have some unyielding faith in him and _Dean _seemed to be pretty attached (which is a frigging miracle, given the only attachment's he's seen Dean hold up long term are to his car and his brother). Sam's right about at least one thing, though, because Dean's gonna be a mess.

He's seen Dean smash up the Imapala and get drunk and angry. He remembered one of the few times Dean called him, in those five years, when Dean breathed that _Sam had run away and he couldn't find him. He was driving down the interstate and 130 mph because he had to follow Sam, he had to get to him, Bobby, but he barely knew what he was looking for. _You're gonna get yourself killed, Boy. _I don't care Bobby! I don't care I don't care where's Sam - - - _

Bobby shakes his head into his bottle of whiskey and wishes Castiel Novak some good luck, because chances are the kid is gonna need it.

ooo

Castiel does exactly nothing for fifteen minutes whilst Dean cries into his knees. It's all kinds of embarrassing but Dean can't think about that, because he's thinking about everything else he's not supposed to think about.

He's running into their burning house, Dad is thrusting Sam into his arms, and he's stumbling into the clean air; his Mom is screaming 'Sammy' and his Dad is screaming 'Mary' and he's outside, clutching Sam to his chest, blinking back tears caused by smoke and fear.

He's teaching Sam the word 'Mama' in private because he thinks it's one of those things Sam should know, even if he doesn't have one. When he finally gets it, Dean finds that he wants to yell at him to shut up, but he says it again and again _Mama, Mama, Mama. _

Dean's nine and he was supposed to be looking after Sam, but he got bored and went out to get soda, and Sam fell over and hurt himself and Dad is yelling because _you shouldn't have left, Dean. You don't leave your bother alone._

He's dropping out of high school cause there's not enough to frigging eat. The guidance councillor is giving him this look, like she's already written him off as a failure. He's blinking and he's thinking _I know, I know, I know._

Sam's run away and Dean is running after him. He's a hundred miles down the highway when he stops for gas and he realises, with a punch to the gut, that there's no one running after _him. _

He's swimming in and out of consciousness in the back of the Impala, trying to scream for help because _his Dad isn't breathing there shouldn't be that much blood, he's not supposed to bleed that much._

Ronald Resnick is dying in his arms. He looks surprised, like he thought Dean could actually save him. He looks like he wasn't expecting Dean to mess up. It's the first time Dean's seen that expression in months, and it's carved into the face of a dead guy.

Cas is laying into him in the Impala, telling him a bunch of shit he doesn't need to hear because he already knows down to his bone. _Selfish, scared of being alone, fuck up._

"Dean," Cas says, finally speaking, "I wanted to apologise about what I said in the Impala the other night."

At some point, he's stopped crying, but his head is swimming with all this _crap _he can't deal with. It's easier to switch over and try to concentrate on Cas's voice than all the other stuff, even though it's still sitting in the forefront of his mind.

"Right," Dean says, his voice coming out more as a rasp than anything else. Dean can feel the weary angry feeling up at that, because maybe it's true but he didn't need to hear that from Cas. Cas was _safe ground. _Cas was good. He understood him and didn't judge him and appreciated that he worked hard, whenever everyone else seemed to have forgotten. Except, Dean had obviously provoked him too… and now that's done. Cas can spew out apologies till he's blue in the face, but Dean's just waiting for the next punch to come rolling in. That's how this works.

"Did that… work?"

"Do you feel better?" Dean asks, standing up to give himself some space, because Cas has no knowledge of social boundaries. Or apologies, either, because he's received some shitty apologies in his lifetime but this ranks top.

"No,"

"Then no," Dean says, he grabs them both a beer anyway. It's not because he's forgiven him, either, it's because he's not sure what he's gonna do when Cas leaves. Maybe cry again.

"Dean," Cas says, and there's a note of frustration in his voice, "I was… having doubts about my father and I projected my frustrations on to your situation with Sam. I don't believe you are selfish in the slightest. I believe you were trying to do the right thing."

"Well, thanks," Dean says, "but you're the minority, here."

"That's not the case," Cas says.

"Yeah?" Dean demands, still stood holding his and Cas' beer, "and how would you know about that, huh?"

His throat is still thick with tears. He's not sure whether he wants to drown in them or pull himself out, but this conversation with Cas is stalling everything at least; he's been working off the hypothesis that if he can just distract himself for long enough, it's all gonna go away. It hasn't worked thus far but, hey, he's open to retrials.

"I talked to your bother."

The mention of Sam makes his throat tighten slightly. He thrusts Cas' beer at him and starts pacing up and down the space in front of Bobby's old sofa.

"Fine," Dean says, dragging a deep breath from somewhere painful, "all right, tell me about your Daddy issues." Cas gives him a look like he doesn't think now is the right time be talking about this, which sparks up Dean's irritation all over again.

What does Cas want him to do? Start composing poetry about how it sucks that everyone he loves dies or leaves? There isn't much to say on the matter, other than it makes Dean want to give up and that he's not entirely sure that he hasn't already. He doesn't _need _Cas and his stupid judgement and his stupid looks and his frankly _piss poor _grasp of personal space. "Cas," Dean demands, "just tell me about your damn doubts before I hit you."

Cas' blue gaze drops down to Dean's sling, but wisely decides not to comment on the fact that Dean _can't _really hit him. Still, he's sure if Cas provokes him enough he _could_ do some damage with his left arm.

Cas looks down at his knees. Dean can feel something sharp dislodging from his throat because, yeah, he recognises that look Cas has got… and he's fucking stupid in regards to his family, his Dad in particular, and Cas looks so despondent and pensive that it's a little difficult to stay mad. He's not mad, anyway, he's upset.

The same as Cas is.

"Okay," Dean says, running a hand over his face in frustration. He _wants _to get mad at yell and all the rest of it, but it's not like that ever does any good. Dad's gone and Sam's gone (temporarily, hopefully, or he doesn't know what the _hell _he's gonna do) and Cas looks so frigging sad. "Okay, I'm ordering a pizza, but then… we're gonna talk."

* * *

Well, I have a lovely 12 hour flight back home to look forwards to tomorrow... and the flights already been delayed by 2 hours, so I'm probably just going to be stuck in Shanghai forever. STILL, I'm taking the extra seven bonus hours of the day as writing time (for however long as my netbook battery lasts, and then my paper stocks last after that)... so there should be more soon :)


	9. Chapter 9

Cas didn't say much about his father in the brief family introductions they did in French, but he always had that same reverent expression that he knew he used to get when thinking about his Dad. He knows he's not around anymore, but that's about it. He'd sort of assumed the guy had died and that was just Cas' way of talking about it (because he's not that good at talking about death, either), but Cas' silence as they are their way through their meat supreme is making him think it's more complicated.

Then again, this is Dean's life, so chances are… it's always more complicated.

"So, you have doubts," Dean prompts, "So, shoot."

"You must understand," Cas says, staring at him even though Dean's sure, if this were him, he'd be looking anywhere else, "Before, we were very happy."

He knows all about the infamous before and he's learnt not to set much in store by it. It's the before without a date or a specific moment, because the second you try and pin the before down it slips into obscurity. He thought they were happy _before _Dad's drinking got bad, until he tries to work out when that was. _Before _the car crash, _before _Dean dropped out of high school, _before_ his Mom died…

You can chase the before forever, but you'll never reach it.

"My mother died shortly after I was born. I have no memory of her. My father kept us together. When I was ten, my father left, leaving Michael in charge. Lucifer was Dad's favourite and he took my father leaving badly. He is the second eldest and he did not take well to accepting orders from Michael. I see a great deal of Michael in you, Dean, and now… I am questioning my father's decision to leave."

"He left?" Dean asks, feeling his blood heating up, "What do you mean, he left?"

"I mean what I said, Dean. I mean _he left."_

"Just packed up his bags and left?"

"I always believed he was doing what was best."

"How old were the others?" Dean asks. He has vague details about his brothers, but nothing quite as specific as age gaps.

"Michael was twenty one, Lucifer was nineteen, Gabriel was fifteen and Anna was thirteen."

"And he just fucks off into the sunset, leaving a twenty one year old to look after you all?"

"Michael never complained. He was happy to obey my father's wishes."

"Yeah, maybe he never complained to _you. _Your mother's dead and your Dad's fucked off, Cas, he's not about to tell you anything different. Your Dad should never have put that on him."

"Exactly," Cas says, face crumping into a frown, "I realise that now. You're forcing me to revaluated, Dean, and it's…"

"And then you just run out on your brother?" Dean demands. He'd suspected, once or twice, that Cas was a lot more like Sam than Dean; Castiel was the one running away from his family, which is probably why Dean never pushed it. He didn't wanna know. "After he bought _all _of you up?"

"No," Cas says firmly, "Listen, Dean…My family are rich. We coexisted relatively uncomplicated for several years, when Michael and Lucifer's disagreements worsened. Michael became… unaccepting. Rigid. I said my parents were very religious, but with Michael as head of the household it became more of an…issue. Gabriel was already more distant before he left, but I believe he disappeared because he couldn't stand the fighting anymore. Anna left because she didn't want to live by Michael's rules. I stayed, Dean. I ended up studying _theology, _despite the fact that I hated it and I realised that I was… I was never going to fit in with Michael's plan for my life. I was living in college dorms and the extra distance away from them made me realise things… about myself. I asked Michael to accept me for who I am and he refused. He threatened to cut me off. You are _not _Michael, Dean, because you would never treat Sam that way… I merely meant that the parallels in your situation made me think about everything."

"Yeah," Dean says, swallowing, "no, I can see that."

Dean has difficulty fathoming everything into actual words, sometimes. In theory, everything is simple, but talking about this stuff out loud clogs up the raw feeling with rationality and then he has to question himself.

He exists to look after Sam. That's been his job for a really long time and, yeah, so he beats himself a bit when he fucks up… but that's how it should be, because if he's _not _looking after Sam then what good is he?

And yeah, when Cas is talking about his brother Michael and his father, he can see the flaws in all of it. It should never have been Michael's job to look after the rest of them (and Michael was much older than _Dean _was). He figures that Cas' Dad is a class A dick and he's at a loss as to how Cas can still talk about him in that slightly reverent tone, and somehow twist it in his head till it's Lucifer and Michael that fucked up, not their Dad.

He gets that.

In theory, he understands that the weird mirror situation they having going on has caused Cas to re-evaluate everything, because now he's dragging himself through all the truths he thought he knew, but maybe aren't that true after all. It makes sense to say that this isn't Dean's fault, whilst his instincts are screaming that it is.

"Cas," Dean says, "I'm sorry, but it sounds like your Dad is a dick."

"For a long time, I believed that Michael was still in contact with my father," Cas says, frowning, "I'm not sure whether I believe that anymore."

"So you, uh, you've been cut off?"

"Not yet," Cas smiles humourlessly, "although, I doubt there's any reason beyond the fact that he hasn't filed the paperwork yet. Our last conversation wasn't pretty."

"Yeah?"

"I was very angry at Anna and Gabriel for abandoning me for a long time," Cas frowns, "I think I understand now."

Dean closes his eyes for a second. Maybe Cas can be Dean, too, angry about being left behind by the people who are supposed to love him. Maybe he can understand both of them at once. There's always this possibility that it's not black and white.

"I'm an ass," Dean says, irritated, "at least my Dad, tried, right? I mean, he was a bit of a bastard but he was _trying. _He wanted to do right by us, you know? And Sam… Sam, Cas, I gotta get him to come back. You… get it, right? Tell me what I got to do, Cas," Dean says, half broken and completely exhausted. He's been doing this for a really long time now and the cracks are starting to show. He thought he was gonna hold out a bit long before it eventually broke him, but it's not that surprising. "I gotta get Sammy back."

Cas gets it, so he's gotta have some answers or Dean's really screwed this time. Cas understands both of them, so he can fix this for him.

"Dean," Cas says, "he is just _worried _about you and does not wish to watch you continue to self-destruct."

"I'm doing my best," Dean croaks out, "God damn, Cas, I don't know what more I'm supposed to do."

"You need to look after yourself."

"I c_an't," _Dean spits out, the anger beginning to flood its way back in, "I can't do that. Sam…. Sam's gotta come first. I can't save everyone, but I gotta save Sam."

"You're not helping him right now," Cas says. His voice has dipped lower, if that was freaking possible, and it's gentle and frustrating. He's not made of glass. He hates this softly softly approach that Sam always takes. He wants someone to yell at him.

He wants Cas to yell at him for being selfish. He's _just _spilt his guts to him about his own messed up family situation and Dean's been absolutely useless. He _is _useless, if he hasn't got Sam.

"Well then I gotta do better," Dean says, standing up and pacing the length of the carpet. "When the hell am I gonna catch a break?" He demands, turning round and glaring at Cas. "I mean, fuck, what does Sam want me to do, huh? I'm maxed out, Cas, and I'm fucking _sorry _if I mess up sometimes, but something's gotta give because I am _done._"

"You don't mean that, Dean."

"Don't I?" Dean's yelling. "Cas, I work over fifty hours a week most weeks, and somehow we're still living hand to mouth. I finish at the Roadhouse at three AM and start at the diner at nine. I haven't slept for more than three hours for _months. _And that's not good enough for Sam, cause I'm not doing well at college, which is a fucking joke anyway. Sam thinks I finished at the Roadhouse two hours earlier and Ellen thinks I start at the diner two hours later. I've been lying to my family for _years _because if they're worrying about me, then what's the point anyway. I've lost _everything _at least six times over. I've just got Sam and my car, and Sammy's gonna leave. Even if he comes back this time, he's gonna leave again. There's no second wind here, Cas, I'm just _done _with all this shit. I'm out."

"Sam nags you about college because he wants you to think of your future."

"I haven't got a future," Dean grates out, "it ends bloody and it ends young. That's it." Cas has turned his stupid blue eyes at him, looking right through him. "There aint no happy ending for me, Cas. I'm cursed, but I'll be damned if Sam doesn't get the wife and the kids and the future."

"It is the very _fact_ that you care so little about yourself that is driving your brother away," Cas says. He sounds like he gargles glass. "It is _self-preservation _and, if you had any, you would have left your father."

Which means their back where they started. Cas _knew _how much it hurt to have family walk out on him, but he ended up doing it anyway because that was the right thing… so, yeah, even if Cas didn't mean to _throw _that at him like that (and Dean didn't really mean to forgive him, either, but it's a bit difficult to hold anything against the guy right now), he still believes is.

"I can't pay for these stupid painkillers," Dean says, and he wants to throw them across the room and cry, "I can't work. I can't even drive. I'd give up the lease on the flat and sleep in my car, but Sam's so attached to the damn place. I _know _this is my fault, Cas, but you gotta tell me what to do."

"I talked to Sam," Cas says, "he didn't want to leave, Dean. He thinks it's the only way you'll listen."

"Well I'm listening, damnit," Dean says. He's not gonna cry again, because he's not sure he has any tears left, but there's a gaping hole in his chest where the reassurance of Sam's presence is supposed to be. When Sam's there, he can tie himself to him. If Sam's okay, then he's okay – he's got to be, because Sam might need him.

"I'll drive you to college and the diner, if you're still able to work."

"Cas, you gotta have something better to do than drive me around."

"There's still a month left until the end of the academic year. You might have enough time to bring your grades up. That will help Sam believe you're beginning to take your own needs into account."

"I don't care about college," Dean says.

"Then _pretend,_" Cas says, his voice fierce, "if you want your brother back, Dean, you are going to have to make some changes. You need to show him that you're sleeping. You need to show him that you are doing things you enjoy. You need to show him that you're not about to jump in front of a gun, or a drawn back fist, because otherwise, Dean, how he can he rely on you like you want him to?"

He can do that. He can pretend.

Any way you look at it, he's getting out the day Sam doesn't need him anymore, but he kind of gets why Sam _knowing _that isn't gonna help him much.

"I don't know if you noticed, Cas, but I _can't write."_

"I assume you had a meeting with someone to talk about your circumstances at the beginning of the year,"

"Yeah," Dean grimaces, "some woman called Missouri who insisted I check in with her every month or she'd beat me with a wooden spoon."

"Did you?" Cas asks. Dean sends him a look. "We'll call her tomorrow. They might be able to organise some special circumstances so you can take your exams after your arm is out of the sling."

"Great,"

"In the meantime, do you have any way to increase funds?" Cas looks hopeful and like he actually thinks Dean can do this, when Dean is almost entirely sure that there's not a chance in hell that he can. The cost of the painkillers is sitting heavily at the back of his throat, though, a thickness that makes it difficult to breathe; it doesn't seem to matter how hard he works, something always comes up and he's back to square one. "Something _legal." _Cas clarifies.

"Well that rules out most things," Dean says, standing up and crossing over to his bedroom.

He pulls the journal out from the back of his wardrobe and sets it down on their poxy kitchen table, pulling up a chair. The journal – brown, leather and beautiful in that archaic way – was supposed to be his fathers, but it was one of the few relics of things that Mary Winchester had touched and, in the days after the fire, he'd collected all these bits and pieces and claimed them as his own. His Dad hadn't argued and even if he had, Dean wouldn't have listened.

So, the book had become a holy article, empty, for years until Dean had decided to put it into use.

Cas hovers behind him, much too close, whilst he flicks over to the last page.

"This is classified, Cas," Dean says, pointing at the pages of the book before glancing at him, seriously, "So don't go talking about this to Sam or Jo or anything. It's just the book I write up the accounts in, but it's private."

_This _page was entitled 'in case of an emergency' by Dean's sixteen year old self, and the numbers spill out onto the second page but most of them are crossed out. It's amazing how many bridges they'd burnt over the years. Ellen and Bobby's numbers sit near the top, crossed out then rewritten in years later – but they're just shelter and somewhere to go emergencies, because he sure as hell wasn't gonna borrow money from them.

"Father Jim?" Castiel questions, finger pausing at one of the crossed out names and numbers.

"Figures you'd hone in on that, church boy," Dean mutters, "he was dead set on saving Dad's wounded soul. Then Dad broke a stained glass window and stole his car. Figured we weren't welcome back."

"Caleb?"

"Jail," Dean says, distracted. He turns over to the next page ('Cash emergencies') and frowns at the fact that most of those numbers have been crossed out too. "He's credit cards," Dean continues, biting his lip, "illegal, illegal, illegal, very illegal….

"You missed one," Cas says, "What's that one?"

"Some bastard who wants to buy the Impala," Dean says, "for a lot of money, too. But I can't do it, Cas, I just can't. The day I have to sell her my next stop is to lie down in the middle of the highway and wait to get hit by something heavy. I won't do it."

Cas doesn't question this.

"What's that number?" Cas asks, pointing to the final uncrossed out number on the page.

"Crowley," Dean groans, running his hand over his face in frustration, "Fuck." He really needs a drink; because that's the nearest thing to a perfect solution he's got. He'll just have to grit his teeth and bare it. "Crowley's a journalist," Dean says, gritting his teeth, "he wants to interview me about the Bank Robbery. He thought I'd do it for free, you know, to get my name in the papers – as if it wasn't there enough, at that point – then he got all smarmy and offered me a financial incentive. Said he knew I was the sole guardian to my brother and all this crap. Ah, shit, Cas, I don't want to do this."

Cas has leaned over and flicked back to the beginning of his journal and is reading the content as if it's actually interesting. It's all colour coded and organised and probably the geekiest thing Dean's ever done in his life, but he needed some record of expenses and incomes – to work out how best to look after Sam – and he thought, maybe, his Mom would be pleased with the eventual content of the book. Expenses for Sam are in blue, Dad in red and household expenditures (gas, food, motel bills) are all in black. There's a money in column and a money out column, and the end of each page has their balance; the black/red colour coding there is obvious and, more often than not, it's in the black. Just.

"Don't read that," Dean frowns, "it's boring."

"It's a log of yours and Sam's life," Cas says, turning over a number of pages this time. _'Sneakers, Sam' _is the biggest expense on this page, which probably means groceries that month were stolen (because, obviously, he didn't record the illegal stuff because he's not dumb). "When do you buy things for yourself?"

"I don't really need crap," Dean says, frowning, "I nicked my alcohol and my cigarettes. Now I have to figure that in, but I'm pretty cheap."

"It seems Sam isn't," Cas says.

"He's a teenager," Dean says, "Teenagers always want a load of crap."

"You had saved a lot of money," Cas says, skipping through a few more pages.

"Well," Dean can feel his mouth go dry, "funerals are kind of expensive. And then the medical bills put us back in the red. I didn't work for a few weeks… I was fixing up the Impala," his throat hurts. "I should've got insurance," Dean continues, "almost could have afforded it, you know, but I figured it would be cheaper just not to get hit by a fucking truck."

Cas turns over to the page just after his Dad died. He got drunk and angry and tore out the page where all the expenses came rolling in, but the next few pages are all written in black – colour coordination be damned – and go from detached 'groceries' and 'gas' to more aggressive and more honest notes. _'A fuck load of alcohol' 'porn' _and '_vegetables to make Sam stop complaining' _are all listed. Dean winces a bit, because he remembers how he felt when he recorded that, and mentally wills Cas to stop turning through the pages of his life like that.

"You missed a month out," Cas says, turning back between pages.

"Right," Dean says, "that was after the bank,"

"Dean," Cas says, "this is very impressive." He's got budgeting calculations in the margins and an attempted flipbook of a girl flashing in the top corner, so he's not really sure impressive is the word. Yeah, he persistently kept their receipts and recorded everything, but it's not like it helped. They're still broke as fuck. "When did you start this?"

"Sixteenth birthday," Dean says, running a hand over the back of his head, "although, I dunno if those pages are still in there. Keep filling it up. Cas, stop reading it like it's the frigging bible, okay? It's just a bunch of calculations."

"Why did you start it?"

"Dad gave me the keys to the Impala," Dean says, and Cas looks at him like he's waiting for a lot more explanation. Dean sighs. "Just after Mom died, I used to collect all this stuff that she'd used, touched... there wasn't much left cause of the fire. It's dumb; she didn't even _like _the Impala. She wanted something with fuel efficiency and lots of space for booster seats, but… she nearly gave birth to Sam in that car, you know? And he'd have ruined the damn seats if he'd been two minutes earlier. But, yeah, I was six and I told Dad I wanted the Impala. Then, decade later, he actually remembers my birthday – which is a frigging miracle, I tell you – and he gave me the keys.

"By that point, Dad was kinda useless. I think it was partially because she's too distinctive to take on a job and all it really meant was that Dad stole cars a lot more, but… I felt like he trusted me and, if he was gonna trust me, then I had to start taking everything seriously."

"Dean," Cas says, his voice serious and imploring, "I need you to help me."

Dean's staring because he's pretty sure what they got out of this evening is that _Dean _is the one that needs help. He's driven the only good thing in his life away and he's cried (and it's just frigging wonderful that Cas bore witness to that, too) and he's got angry and his yelled and started spilling his guts about his freaking log book, whilst Cas delivered a retelling of his own history with a look of mild discomfort.

Somehow, Cas is fine. Dean is broken and falling apart and losing and he sure as shit can't help _anyone._

"With _what_?"

Cas turns to another page in the book, blue eyes boring into the pages like they're actually worth something. He feels transparent. He wasn't lying when he said the book was boring, but Cas is also right in that it's a log book of their lives; this is evenings spent with a bottle of stolen whiskey, forgoing sleep to write up all their receipts without Sam's knowledge, and it's him scrimping to get Sam a decent birthday present and new clothes cause everyone else at school has new clothes, and it's him sneaking out to work night shifts without Sam's knowing, and not eating so Sam doesn't realise their nearly out of cash. It's his whole damn story, written out in half assed calculations.

"My financial situation," Cas says and, yeah, Dean sure as hell wasn't expecting that one.

* * *

_Back in England, just in time to move back to uni on my birthday. Except I seemed to have bought back 50% of china's germs, have lost my voice, keeping throwing up and general feel like crap... roll on freshers week, I guess. _


	10. Chapter 10

It's been three days and Sam hasn't called.

He's really trying not to be a girl about this, but this is the longest he hasn't talked to Sam for at least a year… and, yeah, he counts the two weeks after the bank robbery as the worst point in his life, rivalled only by that week after their Dad died and Dean had to uproot and change everything (not that having a guy he'd never met before die in his arms was worse than his Dad dying, but the timing of everything tipped that over to _the worst)_, but at least then he had Sam to sham being okay for. He was still most off the rails when Sam had gone missing.

"Distract me,"

Castiel should tell him to fuck off. He's sure Castiel is plenty busy and has better things to do than babysit and angsty Dean, particularly given that Cas has been in his company pretty much continually for the past three days. Cas was privy to Dean calling Crowley (and going straight to voicemail, because Crowley is a superior bastard who somehow cuts through Dean's give-em-hell attitude and makes him feel wrong footed without even answering the damn phone) and Dean calling Missouri and making an appointment for next week. Cas has had the extreme delight of listening to Dean flirt with Pamela down the phone for thirty minutes, only to have her screw at Dean for being an idiot and hanging up. He then got Cas to drive him to the diner, because – as he said – his charm works much better when Pamela's reminded of his 'sweet ass' or whatever.

Anyway, it sort of worked, but Pamela isn't happy about it… and it's awkward as fuck making sex jokes when Cas is waiting outside in the car. Plus, Cas has made him attend _all _his classes (and Dean can't really complain, because if it wasn't for Cas he'd be rotting alone in his apartment, but it's still a pain in the ass) and is forcing him to _study _by ditching him at the library whilst he goes to his own classes.

First day, he just assed around trying to hit on the librarian… but Cas' expression when he came back to find all Dean had managed to achieve in those two hours was to get Audrey to write her number on his sling. The next day he got her to bring some of the books he was supposed to read six months ago, which he probably could have reached himself with his left handed, but the girl obviously wanted to be useful. Anyway, Cas had looked far too pleased, so the next day he actually tried reading them… which was progress.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to distract you, Dean."

"Oh come on," Dean complains, "It's not complicated, Cas. Tell me all about your family rebellion. So, you finally had enough of their religious differences and Michael being a dick, you jump ship… move to Kansas, of all places, and then what? Build up a liver of steal and sleep around a bit?"

"No,"

"No to which bit," Dean says, pulling out his cigarettes with his left hand and going through the significantly more difficult of lighting up without his right. He's not technically allowed to smoke in the apartment and, yeah, he wouldn't if there was a chance Sam would be here… but, that's not looking very likely. "Because, Cas, I've seen you take Tequila like a _boss, _and that's gotta have taken a lot of drinking."

Cas looks disapprovingly at his cigarette but doesn't comment.

"I'm guessing you didn't take up smoking."

"No," Cas says, "And you shouldn't have done, either."

"I needed it," Dean says, and he's not lying, "you can't win every battle. So, sleeping around?" Cas looks somewhat uncomfortable. Dean sits up straighter and raises an eyebrow at him, because… I mean, _come on. _Who breaks free of a family that is 'controlling' and 'strict' and doesn't fucking _rebel? _"Oh come on, what kind of nerdy angel are you?"

Cas has become completely still.

"Shit, please don't tell me you're a virgin," Dean says, because _yeah, _there's not a chance in fuck that his only friend that isn't really family could be a _virgin. _That shit's just not right.

"No,"

"Right, good," Dean says, stubbing out his cigarette in his make shift ashtray with a grimace, "not that… well, how many people are we talking?"

He's half curious because he's told Cas a lot about his life at this point, but this isn't something that's ever come up before. He'd pretty much filled in the gaps between Cas moving to Kansas and Cas meeting Dean with _lots _of rebelling and sex and alcohol and whatnot, just because he's pretty sure that's what ninety percent of the population would do in his shoes. Then again, this is Cas… and now he's thinking about it, his brain is short circuiting instead of placing Cas in any of those situations.

"One… person," Cas says, and Dean's glad he already put out his cigarette because _frigging hell. _

"That's almost as bad," Dean says, "_How_?"

"We're not all like you, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean says, "I get that, but _one _person? Cas, that's a frigging tragedy. You know what, we're going out."

"What?"

"We're going to go out and we're gonna hook you up," Dean says, decisively.

One person means Cas must have been seriously hung up on the girl, because no one discovers sex and then puts it back on the shelf for years unless that _one _really fucked them up. And, yeah, Dean hasn't been properly hung up on someone from a long time, because Dean doesn't do relationships or fall in love or any of that crap, but it has _happened _and the one night stands that come afterwards are an important step in getting it out of your system. Sort of.

He is_ technically_ helping Cas out with his finances, lest Michael cuts him off from the big bank account tomorrow (which Cas had assured him is a very real possibility), which is how he wound up broke and asking Ellen for a job, anyway. Still, this doesn't feel like a very fair deal on Cas' end… because he's driving him around and keeping him company and is basically spying on Sam for him, when all Dean's done is told him to keep his receipts for the next week so I can get some idea of how Cas is wasting his money.

And this is something he can do.

He can't get Sam to call him or forgive him. The silence from Crowley probably means that he can't do shit about their financial situation (or, else, Crowley is just enjoying letting him stew) and he probably can't pass college or make anything else right, but he can get Cas laid.

Plus, it's an excellent distraction.

Cas is frowning at him.

"It'll be fun," Dean says, standing up and reaching for his jacket, "and you're shit at distractions, man."

ooo

Dean has a hundred percent never seen Cas look so nervous and uncomfortable and out of place, even when Dean buys him a whiskey and tells him to drink up whilst he scopes out the place. It derails Dean so much that he winds up just _staring _at him instead of looking round for Cas' potentially hook ups, because, yeah, Cas is an odd ball but he never looks _this _uncomfortable.

He really hopes he hasn't fucked this up, because this is all good intentions and stuff. He doesn't really _care_ that Cas is practically a virgin or whatever, he just needed to be out of the apartment and somewhere else for a bit. He needed something to do.

"What about the girl near the door?"

"Dean," Cas says, his voice quiet and insistent. He's not looking at him. Cas _always _looks at him. "Dean, I'm _gay."_

Oh.

Right.

Well, fuck, that sounds about right on the uncomfortable stakes.

"Uh, well, I probably can't help you then," Dean says, feeling equally uncomfortable round about now. Cas does turn to look at him, now, the edge of something terrifying in his blue eyes. "I don't know crap about pulling dudes."

Cas relaxes slightly.

"I apologise," His voice is all deep and formal and reserved.

"Don't," Dean says, because he's not sure what exactly Cas is apologising for but he doesn't think he needs to apologise for anything at all, and he wants to skip from this moment to more comfortable territory because _fuck _this conversation is bordering on an emotional talk Dean feels they should have, but he hates that crap. "Two doubles,"

His brain is catching up past the awkwardness (which is difficult, because the awkward is suffocating him) and focusing on their conversation about Cas' family. It's seeming like Michael is a homophobic douche bag, and Dean has a renewed desire to punch him in the face. Jesus.

"You could have just told me, Cas," Dean says, as the bartender brings their drinks. He's thinking of Cas' uncomfortable silence in the drive here, which means Cas was already going over this conversation in his head; he wonders what Cas thought he was going to do and feels like a dick. He honest to God didn't mean to assume things, and… Cas should know he doesn't give a fuck. "So, this one person…" Dean says, filling in 'dude' in his head, because yeah Cas hadn't specified, "he was your boyfriend?"

He's not a sixteen year old girl, so he doesn't really want to have the losing virginity conversation, but it's not sure what he needs to say to make Cas realise he doesn't care that Cas is gay now he's already gone and fucked the whole thing up.

"Yes,"

"Figures," Dean says, "you're definitely the type to lose it in some classy way."

"Being in a relationship doesn't immediately qualify it as Classy, Dean,"

"Wouldn't know," Dean grins.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"You calling me a whore, Cas?" Cas just raises his eyebrows slightly and Dean can feel himself laughing without really meaning to, because Cas is just too fucking perfect. "Well, whatever, I'm pretty sure you outclass me on that front," Dean says, glancing down at his scotch.

He's pretty sure he was fifteen, the girl was called Emily and that they skipped town later that day, before he had a chance to mention to her that he was leaving. It was at a motel, in the middle of the day, whilst Sam was at school and his Dad was off breaking the law somewhere… so, yeah, neither remarkable or special and _definitely _not classy. It probably also classifies as one of his more successful relationship type things, which is pretty depressing now that he thinks about it.

"So, what did the dick do?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Cas says, finishing his double with a clinical smile.

"Yeah," Dean says, "I figured. No one just sleeps with _one _person unless they're still seriously hung up on whoever that person was."

"Not anymore," Cas says, glancing up at him. He feels better now they've got the eye contact thing sorted again. Cas sort of invades his personal space on a day to day basis, and he definitely oversteps the line of when it's acceptable to stare at anyone, but it's not like Dean looks away and takes a step back – it definitely feels more normal now Cas is back to staring at him.

"Good," Dean says, clapping a hand on Cas' shoulder, "he probably wasn't worth it. So, huh… this what you meant about Michael not accepting you." Cas winces. "Sorry, man, but I gotta ask."

"Yes."

"What a bag of dicks," Dean mutters, angrily, "I'm so over feeling sorry for that douche, Jesus." Cas smiles. "If I ever meet him, I swear I'm sending him straight to hell."

"That's not necessary,"

"I hope for your sake it isn't," Dean says, "you're well shot of that dick."

"He's my family," Castiel frowns.

"No, he aint," Dean says, "I know things about family, Cas. And maybe mine belongs on an afterschool special, but none of us would do that to each other. Okay?"

"In which case, I seem to have no family at all."

"Maybe you should find Gabriel and Anna," Dean says, quietly, because he's been thinking about a lot since Cas mentioned it. Especially with this new information about Michael, it seems like maybe he's been irrationally hating the wrong family members.

Maybe, sometimes there's a good excuse for leaving.

"Enough with this chick flick," Dean grumbles, because getting out the flat was supposed to make things lighter and easier and instead they've gotten stuck in a heavy conversation about family and sexuality and, yeah, that really wasn't his intention. "You good?"

"Yes," Cas says, "I'm _good_." He sounds kind of amused which is a big up from dejected, but probably not what Dean was aiming for.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, pushing back his chair, "how's about, if I beat you at pool, you gotta give me a lift home?"

"You're wearing a sling, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean grins, "and you haven't got a chance in hell of winning."

ooo

Cas is slightly better at pool than previously expected and Dean is probably as arrogant as could have been predicted, because Cas _does _win and they wind up having a big debate about what Dean now owes Cas, given they never specified.

Cas wants Dean to promise to congregate a load of conditional verbs, which is the geekiest request Dean has ever received… and Dean wants to call the difference another drink and be done, because he's so frigging fed up French (and he's not failing, which means there's no point getting any _better)_.

And then the girl that Dean had vaguely considering hooking Cas up with, before the whole awkward coming out conversation, has caught his eye and appears to be heading in their direction.

He's about to turn to Cas and say something about how his sling is a frigging chick magnet and how that makes zero sense, because how _good _can it be when he's incapacitated by his sling. And yeah, there's probably a way around it, but it'd be awkward and probably painful and annoying and it's definitely not much of a _turn on, _but whatever.

Cas, however, has noticed their arrival and looks pretty damn terrified at their approach… which is strange, cause Cas isn't scared of Ellen (or Jo) whilst Dean most definitely is, but his thought is cut off by the girl introducing herself.

She's called Trish and she's a waitress stroke aspiring actress and it takes all of two minutes before she's managed to pull him away from Cas enough that Dean can't hear their conversation. Dean turns around to make sure Cas is okay, because the guy looked pretty spooked… then stops short.

The other girl, whose name he didn't get, is _way _up in Cas' personal space and Dean's not entirely sure what he should do.

"Your friend okay?" Trish asks, and Dean isn't really sure what the answer to that is, because he can't get a read on Cas' expression thanks to the girl. She moves slightly and Cas' eyes lock on Dean, and their panicked and unsure and _yep c_learly Cas can't handle very forward advances and –

Cas says something that Dean can't hear. The girl takes a sudden step backwards, Dean makes a move to rescue Cas, when the girl _slaps him round the face. _

"Oh my God," Trish says, rounding on him just as her friend bursts into tears.

Crap.

_"Cas," _Dean mutters, grabbing hold of a handful of Trench coat and pulling him towards the doorway because he's pretty sure that they've just managed to gain two _very _pissed off women and a whole lot of attention from the other people in the bar. "Cas," Dean grins, when they're outside, "what the hell did you say?"

"I don't know," Cas says, eyes still wide and panicked.

Dean bursts out laughing.

Then he can't stop. He's reached out to hold onto Cas' shoulder with his good arm and there's a sudden _light f_eeling in his chest, like he just dislodged something. It's been a long time since he laughed like this and it's been a long time since he's had a few drinks for _fun _and not because he's trying to distract himself, or sleep, or just numb the feeling (or lack of feeling) that occasionally threatens to eat him from the inside out. He certainly hasn't had this amount of fun with his brother for an age, because he's the responsible guardian and that's kind of _shitty _because he wants Sam to be his best friend.

"Never change, Cas," Dean says, still grinning, as the panicked expression on Cas' face drops slightly. He'd quite like to stand and absorb this moment for a while – because he hasn't felt this _okay _in an absolute age, and all it took was Cas accidentally upsetting some random girl – but Trish standing in the doorway pointing them out to the bartender who served them earlier, so it's almost definitely time to leave. "Time to go," Dean says, pushing Cas towards the car.

"Ah, man," Dean says, once they've pulled out the parking lot and are well on the way to Cas dropping him off at his apartment (which is irritating despite his good mood because, seriously, he's not a fifteen year old girl and Cas' car _sucks), _"it's been a long time since I ran out of a bar like that." Cas gives him a _maybe you should have run out of a bar last week, instead of getting in a fight _look, which Dean suspects is probably fair but a real mood killer. "I think you're a bad influence on me."

Cas laughs at that.

"Don't let your brother know," Cas says, "he'll get someone else to babysit you."

"I haven't had that much fun with Sammy in years," Dean says. It was meant to be a light comment but it came out more like a confession, because he doesn't _want _it to be like that. Sam is supposed to be everything and admitting that, yeah, his brother is a damn pain in the neck and he hasn't properly enjoyed his company for ages is painful.

It shouldn't be like that.

"It would help if you weren't constantly worried about him," Cas says, "but I suspect _most _brothers have more fun with their friends."

"Yeah," Dean says, "well, we're not exactly most people."

"No," Cas agrees, "I enjoyed myself too, Dean."

"Even getting slapped in the face?" Dean asks, grinning again because _Cas' face _had been frigging precious. Cas' expression turns a little smitey and Dean leans back in the passenger seat with a grin, before he remembers that Sam's gone and Dean can't afford jack shit.

Dean frowns out of the window for the rest of the ride home, but he doesn't have another drink when he gets home and it only takes him forty minutes to get to sleep…. So he's counting that as a big improvement.

And maybe Sam will call tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

He's not entirely sure how Cas is managing to make eating one of Pam's burgers so pornographic, but he's definitely managing it and it's _completely _thrown him off his game. They're only in Pam's diner anyway because Dean gets free food (and he's very very broke right now) and he wasn't exactly _expecting _Cas to look at the burger like it was the freaking sun say 'this makes me very happy' and then start eating it _like that. _

It's weird, cause he's never really thought of Cas as a particularly sexual person.

Cas is awkward and moody and acts like he's just fallen out of the sky and is at a loss as to how to react to the whole humanity thing. Yeah, he sounds like he's chain smoked for years and it's hard _not _to think of sex when he switches into French or Spanish or one of the other many languages Cas speaks… but that always seemed kind of accidental. He's a little too nerdy and he doesn't flirt or notice when someone's hitting on him… he's slept with _one person _for God's sake.

Except the noises he's making around his burger belong in a porno and Dean doesn't know where he's supposed to put those thoughts, and it's very distracting.

So now he's accidentally visualising Cas in various situations making these noises and trying very hard not to say something awkward and inappropriate like 'so, about that gay sex thing, Cas…. Bottom or top?' because he's pretty sure that's not acceptable lunchtime conversation. Plus, he doesn't know what he'd do with that information if he had it.

Seriously, though, Cas is kinda bad ass. He can't imagine Castiel with anyone remotely _camp _(he can't really put his finger on why, but it just doesn't compute in his head) so he's filling in the role of Cas ex-boyfriend as some well-built jock type, before erasing that and picking some super smart guy, before giving up and deciding he won't ever work it out. And Cas probably isn't going to tell him.

Which sucks.

"Enjoying your burger, Cas?" Dean asks, giving him a pointed look that Cas doesn't really understand, if the way his forehead crinkles is anything to go by.

"Yes," Cas says, "it's very enjoyable."

"Good," Dean says, because there's not much else he can say to that and he's not going to be the one to explain that some noises are inappropriate in public because, well, he's just not.

And then his phone rings.

He picks it up and _it might be Sammy, Sammy might be calling him, it might be Sam – _

It's Crowley.

"Dean, I'm led to believe answering the phone is more helpful than simply glaring at it."

"Blow me, Cas," Dean grimaces, finally picking it up and answering it, "Crowley."

"Dean," Crowley says, and Dean can just _imagine _him sat in his office with his legs on his desk, grinning, "What are you wearing?"

"Shut up," Dean says, on reflex. Everything about Crowley makes his skin crawl, from his British accent to his innuendo. Normally, he's quite good at holding up his give-em-hell attitude, but somehow Crowley leaves him wrong footed and awkward.

"Okay," Crowley says, and hangs up.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, redialling, "Crowley, you dick –"

He half expects Crowley not to answer and let him stew for another few days, but he _does _and Dean's not sure whether or not he's glad about that.

" – my, my, Dean," Crowley says down the line, "such mixed signals."

"Quit screwing around,"

"Fine, enough foreplay. I assume you've reconsidered my offer."

"I'll take it,"

"No deal," Crowley says.

"What?" Dean asks, feeling something like panic building up in his gut. Yeah, Crowley and the interview was a shitty last resort, but it is also his _last resort _(because he's not selling the Impala, he is not selling the Impala, he is _never _selling the damn Impala) and despite the radio silence from Crowley, he still figured Crowley would follow through.

"I'm halving my offer."

"You son of a bitch,"

"You'll have to sweeten the pot, Dean," Crowley says, enjoyment evident, "How's your brother?"

He would very much like to tell Crowley to go fuck himself and his stupid interview, but he's desperate and they both know it. If he'd been smart about this, he'd have just called once and not begun to let on just how desperate he is.

Then again, he's pretty sure he told Crowley he'd rather sell his soul than give him a damn interview, so it's not like he'd have been able to convince him anyway. It's a matter of dumb luck that he actually wrote down the number.

"The money is non-negotiable."

"I'm quartering it."

"Two thirds,"

"Three eights,"

"Half, fine."

"Done," Crowley sneers down the phone, "You accept that I'm allowed to twist whatever you say however I like."

"The hell you need me for, then?"

"Permission," Crowley says, "I know, the red tape will drive you crazy."

Dean can see Ron slumping at the forefront of his vision, the life seeping out of his eyes, the blood… the only reason he'd even _considered _doing a damn interview was to set the papers caricature impression of Ronald Resnick straight; he might have been pretty messed up in the grapefruit, but he wasn't trying to hurt anyone.

That was clearly not the story Crowley wanted.

"Misquotes are gonna cost you extra," Dean says, pressing a finger into his forehead, "I aint some cheap whore, Crowley."

"Two thirds," Crowley says, "if you throw in a photograph."

_Fuck. _All the other papers had photos of him, sure, but most of those were taken by camera phones outside the bank… he's pretty sure Crowley's going to require something a little less pixelated.

"Fine," Dean says, swallowing back the urge to throw up, "Fine."

"Then we have a deal, Winchester."

"What now?"

"Now," Crowley says, "we consummate. The interview is on Thursday."

"I'm busy."

"Cancel," Crowley says, then he hangs up and Dean's reacquainted with the dial tone. He's highly tempted to throw his phone at a wall, but it seems counter-productive given his financial situation.

"I feel dirty," Dean complains, staring at his half-finished burger feeling pretty hard done by. He's not even hungry any more, which is saying something considering how good Pam's burgers are (even though he serves them our everyday they're still good every time, which is more than he can say for the rest of the shit tips he's worked in). "I'm going for a smoke."

When he comes back into the diner, Cas has ordered them both pie and his loss of appetite dissipates slightly (at least, enough to make room for his slice of pie and half of Cas', because pie is just necessary).

000

The second Missouri sees Dean's sling, she says 'what have you done now, boy?' and lets them both into her office without another word. Dean winds up putting his foot in it (and nearly on the coffee table, which was apparently a bad thought to have) a couple of times and Missouri gives him one of those all to seeing looks that makes Dean want to drink a bottle or four of whiskey.

He gets the extension. Mainly because Cas sweet talks over his loud mouth, and gets Dean talking about the subject of Sam. Then, course, Dean pulls out the picture of Sam and starts rambling on about how well Sam's doing in school before he remembers he made a silent pact with himself not to talk any more.

"You _will _check in with me every week, Dean," Missouri says, as Dean's itching to get out of her office, "or so help me I will call your brother and get him to talk some sense into you. And don't you _dare _think about standing me up."

"She's nice," Cas says, as they get back into Dean's car. Dean stares at him in amazement because _nice _isn't the word he'd used (internally, he usually goes for _terrifying). _Actually, Sam had really liked her (because, of course, his shit of a little brother had insisted coming to his meeting with the college), but then Missouri always seemed to have insight beyond what she should – which is why Dean avoids her like the plague, because he doesn't need any more Dr Phil figures in his life, thanks – and Sam's been looking for answers for years.

"Sam hasn't called," Dean says, because Sam's absence has got physically_ painful _in the past couple of hours.

He's done his best at giving his brother some space. He hasn't called. He hasn't texted. He hasn't bugged Ellen continually about how he's doing (which sucks extra, because it means he's barely spoken to Ellen or Jo either and there his family too). He _gets _that Sam needs some space, sure, because after that evening with Cas he was beginning to think that maybe he needed a little space too… but Sam's gotta know that the silence is driving him crazy.

Cas sighs.

"I'm trying, man," Dean complains, glaring out the window, "I'm going to all these stupid classes and I've got a frigging extension. What good is all this crap if Sam doesn't even know about it?"

"You're supposed to want to do these things for you, Dean."

"Well I don't give a crap about me."

"That's the problem."

"I get it," Dean says, his chest clenching, "I've seen this show before with my Dad, okay? But I just… I can't. Someone's gotta cut me some slack."

"Dean," Cas says, turning to look at him, "your family are _all _willing to make allowances, you are just asking for the wrong ones. Would you stand by and watch Sam develop an addiction? Throw himself into dangerous situations?"

"It's different," Dean says, even though he knows it's not. He doesn't like it when people throw logic at his internal truths like that, because it throws his equilibrium off track. Sam and Ellen and Bobby and the rest can't love him the way he loves them, because he's the monumental worthless fuck up. That's just how it is.

And when he doesn't think too much about the fact that he's their family too, it's easy to hide under his smart ass comments and scratching the superficial itches (drink, food, sex) and happily ignore the fact that he _really _hates himself. He didn't even _know _he hated himself until right after the bank robbery, when he was sat in the apartment thinking about how much he should have been the one to die. Even then, he didn't think on it until he was drunk and literally asking for a fight, because it's easier not to.

After he realised he hated himself he then started to become aware of just how _much _and that's sure as shit not helpful in day to day life. He hates the way he takes advantage of Cas – letting him drive him around and take him to college, even though he's gonna fail and wind up in the gutter anyway. He hates the way he's never quite good enough for Sam – because if he was, Sam wouldn't be worried about him. He hates the way he turns to drinking _exactly _like their Dad did and he hates that he still can't decide whether he should be obeying his Dad's last orders or running the hell away from them.

It's not like it's a new thing, either. He hated himself when he dropped out of high school, even if he didn't acknowledge it. He's furiously hated himself every time Sam ran away. He's hated that he can't save people and that he's such a screw up that everyone he loves leaves.

He doesn't want to think about that, though, and it's much easier to ignore if people stop challenging his self-deprecating view of reality…. because it was startling to realise the depths of his self-loathing and now it's difficult to become _unaware _of it.

He never thought of himself as someone with low self-esteem.

"You ever been arrested, Cas?" Dean asks. "Because I got arrested in Maine. I managed to send Sam out the SOS before they got the cuffs on. He skipped his Lit class to make a fake 911 call then ran back to the motel to pack up all our crap. I broke out of a police station and we drove across two states. We were just lucky that he bought my fake name. Sam was thirteen. I don't deserve to be forgiven for that."

"What were you arrested for?"

"Does it matter?" Dean asks. Cas meets his gaze with a flat expression. "I was shop lifting food. I'd done the same place they day before. Rookie error."

"Why were you stealing food?"

"Well, it wasn't for my own sense of amusement," Dean says, "Dad hadn't been home in a few days and thirteen year olds need to eat. He'd ran off with my last fake credit card. Should've gone out and hustled some pool, but I didn't wanna leave Sammy alone in the Motel."

"You were doing your best."

"There was another shop two blocks over," Dean says, his voice low, "if I hadn't been so frigging arrogant, Sam could have stayed in that school till the end of the semester."

"It was three years ago."

"Yeah, which means Sammy was _thirteen years old _making fake 911 phone calls whilst he should be in class. I know he's gonna resent me and I've gotta atone for all that crap I put him through, but I… I need him to talk to me."

"You need to forgive yourself," Cas says, each word punching out of him deliberately.

"I'll forgive myself when Sam stops running away," Dean says, pressing his shoulder against the door of Cas' crap car. Sam's presence makes him calmer and he's not sure what he's doing without it.

"I think your father was an assbutt," Cas says, pulling up in front of Dean's building.

He doesn't usually stand for people insulting his father, but then Dean had ripped into Cas's Dad (and his brothers, and his sister) plenty, so he probably would have let it slide even if Cas hadn't chosen the insult _assbutt. _But, assbut? Dean finds a short laugh escaping without meaning to, his chest constricting around the brief spark of amusement, before he turns to face Cas.

"Likewise, Cas, likewise."

When he's out the car, he pulls out his phone and types out a message to Sam. He dithers over it for half an hour before he eventually decides _to hell with it _and presses send.

A text message isn't too invasive. Sam can ignore it if he wants to. And, hell, maybe Sam _wants _to talk to him – it's unlikely, but he wouldn't past his brother to be stubbornly angry _and _achingly eager to talk to someone. On previous occasions, Sam has laid down the law that _he _wants to be the first to get in touch, then anxiously waited for Dean to keep chasing after him.

Kids only a teenager, so it's natural. He can ignore the text if he doesn't want to talk to him, but Dean can't ignore the gnawing sensation that comes with not talking to Sam for this long.

_Did u know Cas is gay!?_

Sam calls him within a minute.

"Dean, of course I knew," Sam says, and Dean can feel every single muscle relax slightly. Sam sounds fine. Better than fine, actually, he sounds great. "How did you not know?"

"Dunno,"

"Just because he doesn't carry round a handbag –"

"– Sam, I can _hear _your bitch face," Dean grins, "I _know _the gay stereotype thing is bullshit, Sam, so don't –"

" – I hope you weren't a dick about it," Sam says, but he sounds like he's smiling slightly too. Dean can exactly visualise all his expressions and, yeah, maybe it's not the same as his brother actually being here… but it's good.

"Dude," Dean says, "I'm offended."

"Dean, it's not like you have a good track record with things like this,"

"Things like what?" Dean asks, "This ain't exactly a regular occurrence. How'd you know, anyway?"

"We talked about it," Sam says, and Dean can't deny that one hurts. Maybe he'll call Bobby later and ask him if he gives off some weird homophobic vibes, because it's one thing Cas not telling anyone about it… but why did he tell Sam and not him? It doesn't help that Sam seems to think he put his foot in it (which yeah, he kind of did, but… it's not like he could have_ known_ without Cas mentioning it). He's not an asshole, damnit, and it'd help if everyone didn't actually think he was.

"Since when do you and Cas talk, anyway?"

"He's_ your_ best friend," Sam says, with a probably bitch face 3.0 (it's difficult to tell without the visual, but he's pretty damn sure), which usually means _Christ Dean you're such an idiot _or something of that calibre. The icy feeling in Dean's chest defrosts slightly.

"Huh."

"What?" Sam asks. "Don't tell me that's news to you."

"Oh, shut up," Dean says, "I've never had a best friend before."

"Cute," Sam says.

"Bitch,"

"Jerk,"

"How's Ellen?" Dean asks, even though it makes his voice come out slightly strained and he doesn't want to ruin the moment… but he can't just pretend this is normal now Sam's actually talking to him, because everything about not having Sam in the room next door feels unnatural.

"She's good," Sam says, his voice slightly tight too, "You don't have to avoid the Roadhouse just because of me," he continues, all in a rush, "Jo and Ash are your friends."

"I didn't think you wanted to see me."

"Dean," Sam says, and it sounds like he wants to cry, "It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that, way I see it."

"I miss you," Sam says, and Dean suddenly remembers that this is the same Sam he taught how to walk and talk; the same Sam that cried when their Dad missed parent's evening and the same Sam that used to crawl into his bed in the middle of the night because he had nightmare. He's just a kid, damnit, and Dean should never have put any of this on him.

He can't have Sam thinking he's about to off himself. He's gotta convince him he's fine. He's gotta up his game face, because Sam's just a teenager and he's been through enough.

"I miss you too, Sammy," Dean says, glancing at the floor of his apartment and closing his eyes, "I'm gonna fix this, Sam, I promise you."

"Yeah," Sam agrees. Dean can hear the tears in his voice. It doesn't help.

"But you gotta call me, man," Dean says, "I need to know you're all right."

"Sorry," Sam says.

"Doesn't matter," Dean says, "but call me."

"I will," Sam says, "I… I've gotta go do my homework."

"Damn straight," Dean says, "I might get Cas to drive me to the Roadhouse when he's on shift at some point this week, okay? I'll text you and let you know when I'm gonna be there."

He doesn't say 'so you can avoid me if you want to' but the subtext is pretty clear.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, "See you, Dean."

"Bye," Dean tells the dial tone. He crosses the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker, because he needs _something_ tonight, and if all he's allowed is a shed load of cigarettes and a lot of expresso, that's what it's gonna have to be.

He's gonna finish going through Cas' shit tone of receipts and make a proper plan about how to convince Sam he can trust him again, even if it takes all night.

He gets it. He gets what Cas has been trying to tell him. He's pretty sure he knows what he's gotta do, but it's difficult to know where to start.

_Talked to Sam. What do I need to do to convince him I'm okay?_

Cas texts back thirty one minutes later, not that Dean is counting.

_Give up smoking._

Ah, crap.

* * *

How do I have so much uni work already? _Insert grumbling here. _Oh, well. Thanks for reading! :)


	12. Chapter 12

"So, I gotta ask man… what's with the caffeine addiction?" Dean asks, pointing to a pile of receipts which is almost entirely made up of cappuccino orders.

Dean won't admit to being good at much, but he's good at budgeting because he kind of had to be. He's never found it that difficult to find jobs; he's kinda of attractive and he's good at sweet talking employers, he's clearly desperate and comes armed with a picture of Sammy (the puppy eyes translate well to photograph, which he's frigging grateful for). He's not picky, either, providing it pays. Plus, these days he's also got a crap load of experience.

Still, he learnt pretty quick that having money coming in doesn't solve the problem unless you're aware of the money going out, too. At first, he'd have a vague awareness that pay day was coming and loosen the belt a little too much, only to find himself short three days early and with nothing saved up from the previous week.

Cas blinks at him.

"The coffee, Cas," Dean says, "You're spending like _most _of your money on fancy ass coffee. I don't even know how you _sleep _drinking this much coffee."

"You drink the same quantity of coffee," Cas says. It's weird that Cas can say that with such confidence, but given that the last _week t_hey've been pretty much living in each other's pockets, it's fair to say he's got a good idea of Dean's habits. And coffee is definitely one of them.

"Yeah," Dean says, "that's because I don't sleep."

Cas frowns at him.

"Dean –"

"– that's not the point, anyway," Dean says, quickly, "the point is, I drink filter coffee and you drink frigging cappuccinos. _Big _price difference."

"I prefer cappuccinos,"

"Yeah," Dean says, "so do I, but not enough to warrant the extra money. Cas, on Monday you bought _four _small cappuccinos. At least just buy a large and be done with it… and if you really need the caffeine, get a double shot. And for god's sake find a cheaper coffee shop."

Cas makes a face. Dean isn't exactly surprised because the coffee from that place is frigging _divine _and he'd happily sell his soul to be able to afford legitimate Italian coffee every day, but there's no one in the market interested in something as damaged as his soul.

"For the purpose of this, Cas, you're not a rich kid anymore. You don't get nice things."

Cas looks so put out that Dean finds his resolve to be tough on him weakening slightly, and pencils in one expensive coffee per week on Cas' budget without comment. He's knocked a quarter off Cas' weekly spend without much difficulty because Cas is obviously so unused to thinking about money there are certain things that just don't seem to occur to him – like planning ahead and buying a large coffee, instead of two smalls. Just a couple of dollars here and there, but it adds up.

"Dean, you're experiencing nicotine cravings."

"Dude," Dean complains, setting down his pen (which he's been distractedly tapping on the desk ever since he remembered he _really _wanted a cigarette ten minutes ago) with a grimace, "don't _mention it_."

"You're more irritable than normal and you keep fidgeting."

"I'm aware, Cas."

"I'm sorry," Cas says, and Dean isn't entirely sure whether he's apologising for guilt tripping Dean into giving up smoking, the fact that he's _itching _for a cigarette, or bringing up the whole thing in the first place. He's not really giving up, either; he's just _cutting down _or whatever. He can't deal with a lack of Sam and going cold turkey when cigarettes and an absence of Sam are so closely interlinked.

"I used to work in a coffee shop," Dean says – anything to change the damn subject, because _honestly _he needs a cigarette more than he can explain and Cas is frigging useless – "crap job. You know how damn picky people are about their coffee? This one guy came in every day and asked for a large, soy milk cappuccino with an extra shot and _no _chocolate sprinkled on top. What kind of soulless dick has a cappuccino _without _the chocolate?"

"Those allergic to chocolate?"

"Smart ass," Dean comments, "You eat out too much, but I guess that's my fault. Next week I'll cook."

"You're not working tomorrow," Cas says, "do you need a ride anywhere?"

"Nah," Dean says, "I'll just sit around the apartment all day."

"_Dean," _Cas says, mouth folding into an irritated line, although Dean's not entirely sure what he's done wrong this time. "Sam will be more convinced you're beginning to take your own needs into account if you actively do something you enjoy on your day off."

"I can't just let you drive me around everywhere, Cas," Dean says, "and I'm _actively _gonna watch crappy TV."

Cas gives him a look that signals marathon watching Dr Sexy probably isn't going to impress Sam, but then again he's got an extension for his exams, turned up to all his classes, started studying and cut down on cigarettes… and Sam's none the wiser of any of it. Unless, course, Sam's getting fed updates from Cas which he wouldn't find surprising (although plenty depressing).

"I'm good," Dean says, hunching up his shoulders, "I ain't putting you out."

"What do you _want _to do, Dean?"

"Finish having this conversation,"

"_Dean." _

"You gonna bust my ass till I think of something?" Dean frowns, glancing down at the pile of receipts for a minute, "You should be trying to save money on gas, not wasting it on me."

"I hardly think ensuring my _friend _is both able to pass his exams and pay for his medical bills is a _waste_."

"Well, driving me places that I just _feel _like going to is,"

"So you _do _have somewhere in mind."

"I'd like to go see Bobby, all right?" Dean says, feeling his face burn slightly. He hasn't seen Bobby since he got out of hospital, which sucks all round given he can't see Ellen or Jo either; he's been cut off from his whole extended family and it makes him feel a bit disconnected and weird. He knows Sam said he could pop down to the Roadhouse, but he's not sure if he can face Sam being so near and still avoiding him. "But its way out of your way, Cas, and it's your weekend too."

"You work at Bobby's?"

"Yeah," Dean breathes, "yeah, but I mean… Bobby's the closest thing to a father I got." He's beginning to think that _maybe _Bobby was an infinitely better father figure than his own, but that's a whole separate kettle of fish. Cas raises his eyebrow in a clear _tell me more_ way that Dean's begun to get used to. "He taught me how to fix cars so I could take care of the Impala and put us up when Dad was drunk or missing," he can feel his voice tighten because _damn _he misses Bobby, which is all kinds of dumb, "haven't talked to him for a couple of weeks."

"Why?"

"He's gonna be mad, Cas," Dean says.

"How do you know?"

"Because he should be mad, damnit. Cas, I landed myself in _hospital _when I've got Sam to look after. I messed up so bad Sam's pissed off to Ellen's and now I'm damn _useless _and probably can't even help out at the garage."

"Have you _asked _him?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm a kid," Dean snaps, because he's been ignoring Bobby's phone calls and not listening to the answerphone messages for the past week, but that doesn't mean he needs _Cas_ treating him like he's just finished preschool. "Yeah, I get it, I should've called and told him to come visit or whatever but I _didn't _so it's done."

"I'll pick you up at eleven tomorrow."

"Fine," Dean retorts, shoving Cas' new budget at him feeling slightly vicious, because he's a monumental fuck up and that's how he reacts to this emotional crap.

(He kind of gets what Cas was probably thinking about getting at, too, because barricading himself away from his family – one of the few things that makes him happy – is pretty damn illogical. He could write off not calling Ellen as trying not to interfere with Sam, but there aren't enough decent excuses left as to why he's hasn't called Bobby. This self-destruction thing is pretty exhausting).

That night, he listens to Bobby's answerphone messages. He's not mad. At least, he wasn't in the first message, even if the last ends with a pretty irritated 'do I _look_ like a ditchable prom date to you?' He calls him and tells him to get his finest car ready, because his performance of one man mechanics is gonna be incredible.

Ellen is equally as prissy ('you better put me on speed dial, kid') but softens pretty quickly and doesn't mentions Sam. Jo has a go at him for forcing her into working extra shifts. Cas, who happens to be on shift that night too, drifts over to the phone and tells him to get some sleep (and it's frigging hilarious how much that makes him sound like a worried boyfriend, but whatever), he sounds pleased that Dean's finally got his head out of his ass and called his family, though.

Sam doesn't come on the line. Dean tells himself that's because his brother is having an early night, but he's pretty sure he doesn't believe it.

"Bobby," Dean says, stepping out of Cas' car and crossing over the messiest bit of Bobby's backyard with a grimace, "you know Cas."

"We've met," Bobby agrees, "dunno what good you think you're gonna do with one arm, y'idjit."

"Better than you could do on your best day, old man," Dean grins, clapping Bobby on the shoulder with his left hand, "what have you got for me?"

"I take it y'skipping the lecture," Bobby grunts, walking back inside with Dean in his wake. He should probably check in with the other guys that work at Bobby's, but he's not sure he feels all the sociable – plus, he hasn't got a damn clue _why _Bobby employs Garth, even if he does grow on you.

"I'll take a beer though," Dean says.

"Will you now?" Bobby mutters, grabbing him one all the same. "You drink beer, boy?" He asks Cas. Dean feels slightly nervous all of a sudden, because he really wants Cas and Bobby to get along and he's not entirely sure how that would even work. Like he told Sam, he's never had a best friend before (and he's not really sure how or when Cas took on that roll, anyway), but the idea of more people not getting on is pretty stressful.

"I do," Cas says. Bobby hands him a beer with a grunt which is near enough approval to take the edge of Dean's worry and then Bobby starts telling him about the cars he's got in, and that's enough to take his mind off Cas completely.

"Oh, she's beautiful," Dean grins, stepping back out into the yard with beer in hand.

"Yeah, she's a beauty all right," Bobby agrees, "shame her owner is the biggest damn asshole I ever met."

"Happens a lot," Dean says, because nearly everyone he's met who has a car _this _beautiful has more money that he's ever had in his life and is usually all too happy to wallow in it. Plus, he's always predisposed to hate people who have so much when he's been struggling his whole damn life. Even though he has the Impala, which is the best car _ever_ and _his, _but that's completely different.

Bobby raises his eyebrow at him.

"How is the Impala?"

"Baby's the exception," Dean says, "I'm awesome."

Bobby grunts.

"I aint paying you for standing around looking pretty," Bobby says, "if you're gonna work on the car, work on the damn car."

"Yeah, all right grumpy," Dean grins, even though he's not entirely sure how his one armed mechanic show is gonna work. He's sure he can manage. Bobby rolls his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath, before trudging back inside. "You good, Cas?" Dean asks, because he's not really sure what Cas is supposed to do whilst he's messing around under this beauty.

Cas is just watching him, so he takes that as confirmation that Cas is_ just_ fine.

He puts on the radio and feels slightly lighter already. Working on cars had been one of his only pleasures for years. He understands cars. He understands how they work and he can pick them apart and piece them back together again, bit by bit. He can look at a car's engine and then do something to make her run better, smoother. They're a hell of a lot more simple to understand than people and they're much more loyal too.

Bobby taught him how it all worked years ago. He'd gleamed some knowledge off his father, but Bobby was the real expert… which meant it was one of those bits of Dean's childhood that wasn't tainted by his father in some way, so he could still enjoy it just as much as he had done previously.

Sam doesn't get it, but Sam has his geek stuff and his history clubs and Dean had cars and he always liked it like that.

ooo

He's finding the one-handed mechanic stuff okay, even though it makes everything slower and more awkward; he can't be frustrated, though, because he's marginally better at dealing with this one handed than the rest of the world one handed.

He pushes himself out from under the car to find that Cas has gone – probably drifted inside with a book, or something – and Bobby has come out with another beer.

"Could do with a spanner, Bobby."

"I ain't your damn slave."

"Yeah, well, I'm down one arm."

"Cry me a river," Bobby mutters, but hands him the spanner anyway, "I should've made you stay after your Daddy died," Bobby says, and Dean's suddenly glad that he's half sat under the car because these sorts of conversations are always a lot easier when he's _not _facing them head on. "Day you smashed up the Impala, should've insisted y'stuck around for a couple more months. We all knew you weren't right, boy. I got my own Daddy issues. I know how it is."

"It's fine, Bobby," Dean says, "I'm good."

"No you aint," Bobby counters, "and it'd help everyone if you'd just admit it. I aint saying you got no right to be mixed up in the grapefruit, cause God knows you've had more than your fair share of crap swung your way… just wish I'd done something sooner."

"Bobby…"

"You boys are the best damn thing that ever happened to me."

Dean thinks he could probably say the same about Bobby. He has vague memories of Bobby taking him to the park to play catch 'like the other snot nosed jerks' when he'd already taken on the responsibility of making sure Sam was fed and watered (and washed) because their Dad was already slipping.

"I aint got much to be proud of."

"Sammy's smart," Dean says, "he's gonna do really good, Bobby."

"I ain't talking about Sammy," Bobby says, his voice crossing over to angry and frustrated for a split second, "I'm talking about you, Dean."

Dean can feel all his refutes circling in the back of his brain, even though he knows better than to venture them out loud. Dean's not a good person. He's broken laws (and quite a lot of them, too) and not _just _to steal Sam so food and whatever, but serious laws that are there to protect people. He's listened to shitty orders and acted on them anyway. He's got his GED and a bucket load of experience working at slightly seedy diners, bars and wherever else would take him…but that's it. Those are his highlights and it doesn't add up to a very impressive picture.

"Aint many kids can do what you do," Bobby says, "looking after your brother like that." He's _not _looking after Sam right now. "I just don't know when you're gonna get through your _damn _head that it aint your job."

Dean sits up.

"Drop it, Bobby,"

"I aint talking to make myself feel better," Bobby says, his voice rising, "Cut yourself some slack, Dean. You got no business running yourself to the ground when you should be getting out and having a damn life and stop putting all the blame on yourself."

"It's _on _me."

"No it aint," Bobby counters, frustration bubbling up in his voice, "you think I aint got regrets? I should've filed for custody day your Daddy left you to look after a five your old kid alone. Only reason I didn't is cause I didn't fancy myself as much of an alternative. Day after you disappeared Ellen was trying track you all down, get you back at the Roadhouse until your Dad sobered up,"

That's not the way it happened. Ellen was so _angry _at John, at Dean, because her husband had been arrested… and Bobby wasn't ever some lacklustre father figure…and it's all rushing in his ears because, yeah, _someone should have been helping him out. _If only for Sammy's sake.

Sammy deserved better than some teenager shamming at being an adult.

"And maybe if we stepped in sooner your Daddy might have snapped out of his damn rut. I won't insult you saying he was a bad man, cause he weren't, but he messed_ you_ up good and proper." Bobby's hand comes to rest on his left shoulder, bringing him back into the present with a jolt. "Sam aint leaving cause he wants to, Dean," Bobby says, voice low and serious, "it's a damn intervention… and it's about time one of us intervened."

"Good talk," Dean says, dropping his spanner and trudging back up to the house for a little bit of distance. He'd like to go sit in the Impala and breathe, but the Impala's way back at his apartment and he'd rather have a long chat about his feeling than sit in Cas' excuse of a car.

He accidentally finds Cas in Bobby's study, which is all full of dusty books that Dean's not even sure that Bobby can read, but Cas has one prized open and is reading it with a curious, other worldly expression that Dean's begun to get used to.

"That a Latin car manual?"

"Arabic," Cas says, because _of course _it is and of course Cas recognises that (he remembers Cas telling him that that learning Arabic as a part of his theology degree was what pushed him towards language in the first place), "it's interesting."

"You working at the Roadhouse tomorrow night?"

"Yes,"

"I'm tagging along." Dean says, going to get himself another beer. He'll text Sam and tell him he'll be there tomorrow, but for now he's gonna finish fixing up that frigging beautiful car. And later he's gonna convince Cas to let him introduce him to some decent movies (because the guy's _clueless)._ They're gonna get drunk off Tequila watching Star Trek because _why the fuck not _and it's gonna be freaking awesome.

* * *

_So, hi, yes. First, I really wasn't expecting this to get this long (my word document has this just under 60k at the moment which is um... unexpected, to say the least) and I also feel like things are a little slow at the moment, but I promise they will pick up soon! Dean has a lot of crap to work through and he's slowly getting there (in a three steps forward, two steps back kind of way), but there will be actual Destiel stuff soon enough._

And Sam's properly in next chapter, which is nice.


	13. Chapter 13

The Roadhouse closes early on a Sunday.

Dean's been there pretty much all day because Cas is on shift and he's trying his damnest to spend some quality time with Sam. Sam, though, spent most of the day out with one of his friends (and he's doing his best not to nag about _who, _cause he's walking on thin ice here) but he didn't seem pissed when he came in find Dean playing Ash at pool left handed (he was still winning, because Ash says Sunday is a day made for drinking excessively even though it isn't Friday night anywhere).

Now, though, he and Sam are sitting round one of the tables playing cards while Cas grumpily stock takes, which is the only part of bartending he's actually any good at. Dean has discovered that Cas gets prickly when he hasn't slept much, and given he spent Saturday night introducing him to the joys of pop culture, Cas' face is scrunched up into displeasure in a way that makes Dean want to smile for no reason.

"Mom said you were playing cards," Jo says from the doorway, pulling up a seat and falling into it, "how's the stock take, Cas?"

"Don't make him lose count," Dean snorts, "he's tried and he gets prissy."

"You keep him up all night?" Jo grins.

"Don't got assuming that's on me," Dean says, plucking the cards from Sam's hand even though their halfway through a round (which may be because he's losing, not because he's going to deal Jo in, but Sam's resulting bitch face is hilarious). "Cas has got a wild social outside this bar. He's got a library card and everything."

"I wasn't doubting Cas," Jo grins, "you're the one with no friends, Winchester."

"I got friends," Dean counters, "I've got a shit tonne of friends."

"Name five,"

"Cas, Ash, Sam, you… Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?" Sam asks, glancing up from the deck of cards Dean's dealing curiously. It's a pretty tragic state of affairs that this is the grand total of his friends, and Charlie is clutching at straws a little anyway (given their entire acquaintance now spans the length of three shifts at the diner), but it's not like Jo has an overloaded contacts list. Sam's the one with friends.

"New girl at work."

"You slept with her yet?"

"I'm not her type," Dean counters, spreading his cards out into a fan.

"And I thought you were everyone's type," Jo says, dropping a seven down onto the pack in the middle.

"I haven't got breasts," Dean says, "maybe you should try, Joanna Beth."

"So, she's nice?" Sam asks, eagerly. It's pretty sad that Sam's so obsessed with him actually gaining a social life and he finds his gaze drifting to Cas for a second. Cas is, of course, staring at him. Dean smiles because he kind of thinks that this is the sort of thing that Cas wants him to do – make friends and have a life and stuff.

"Yeah," Dean says, "nerd, actually. Why are all my friends frigging nerds? And she's almost as hopeless as Cas at picking up tips. From guys, anyway. So I was trying to teach her how to flirt. Fucking hopeless."

"How to flirt with _guys?_" Jo asks. "There something you're not telling us, Winchester."

"Shove it, Jo," Dean says, putting down a four. Jo grimaces and picks up four cards dutifully. "But yeah, she's nice. Like the little sister I never wanted." Jo raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, Jo, the _second _little sister I never wanted."

"Lucky me,"

"You should take that as a compliment," Sam says, dropping another card onto the pack, "from Dean, being family eclipses pretty much anything."

"Also means you're cursed," Dean says, picking up a card from the deck, "it ends young and it ends bloody."

"Dean," Sam frowns, "we're not cursed."

"We kind of are," Dean says, looking up and locking eyes with his brother, "if you're in this family, chances are, you're fucked."

"Our Grandad didn't die young."

"He was no family of mine," Dean grimaces, glancing down to find that Jo's _won _and is looking pretty self-satisfied about it.

"What do you mean?" Sam asks.

"Samuel Campbell was a dick."

"Dean," Sam says and, god help him, the puppy eyes are coming out. He busies himself a few moments by sweeping up the cards, but he's thinking maybe this is a conversation they should be having. He looks at Cas again.

Cas said he needs to talk to Sam more.

"He hated Dad," Dean said, "didn't think he was right for his daughter which was fine, whatever, but Mom could have really used the help."

"Why?"

"Because…" he starts shuffling the deck, sucking in a deep breath, "it wasn't all rainbows and ponies before the fire. Dad wasn't always there." Sam's eyebrows are shooting up his forehead, the question already forming in the slight movement of his lips. "Mom chucked him out a couple of times cause he was working long hours… he was fucking useless with you. Barely picked you up before he put you back down again, cause you cried like the whiny bitch you've always been. Samuel didn't babysit once. Didn't visit, either, and it wasn't like it was a long way to drive. Then Mom dies. I know you got your opinions of Dad, but he was thirty something with no family, no wife, no house and two kids to look after. Samuel should have stepped up to the fucking plate, but if it wasn't about Mary then he weren't interested. Said he'd take me and you if Dad got out of lives for good, but otherwise it was a no deal."

Dean starts dealing out the cards so he doesn't have to look at any of them, because it's difficult enough without reading Sam's expression.

"He had a shit time," Dean says, "he was only trying his best to do right by us."

"At first," Sam says. Dean looks up at him sharply. "At first, he did."

"You didn't need to always give him a hard time, Sammy."

"You didn't need to do everything he ever said, no questions asked, no explanations needed. Just a _yes sir _and you'd hop to it. Dean, you never stood up to him. _Ever._"

"After Mom died," Dean says, giving up on the pretence of dealing out the cards because it looks like the game is over, anyway, "I gave Dad a really hard time. I was a Mommy's boy." Sam raises his eyebrows at this because, yeah, ever since Sam could remember he's idolised John Winchester, so he never knew any different. "I used to sit up with her when she was crying about Dad being a dick, then suddenly Mom's gone and I'm stuck with the guy who used to upset her. I wouldn't do a damn thing he said. I didn't eat. I bitched at him every time he made you cry. I threatened to pack a frigging bag and walk myself to an orphanage."

"What happened?"

"On my seventh birthday, the first without Mom, Dad left you with Bobby and he took me to the park. He sat me down on the bench and we had a conversation."

"What did he say?"

"You're not gonna like it," Dean says, glancing back down at the cards and shuffling them again, just to have something to do with his hands, "he said that he was real sorry he'd upset Mom and that she was the love of his life. He said that he pulled you out the flames and he gave you to me to carry out, but he couldn't get to Mary. He said that was on him, because he should have been more careful. He said that he wasn't much cop at being a father and that he needed my help to protect you, because he couldn't let anything bad happen to you. He said that I needed to be better at protecting the people I loved than he was, because he'd messed up, and he needed me to be a bigger man than he was," Dean sucks in a breath, and looks up at Sammy, "So I could look after you."

"Christ almighty, Winchester," Jo says, all quiet, "a therapist would have a field day with you."

"Dean," Sam looks like he's gonna cry, which totally isn't what he was intending with this, "Dean, Dad shouldn't have put that on you."

"It's history," Dean says, even though it's not. It's his present. He's not dumb enough not to realise that's the moment half his issues took route, but for half of his life that was his driving force; he was gonna be a man and protect Sammy and protect Dad. "He was just trying to get me to listen."

He stands up, turning his back on Sam, Jo and the cards, and taking a step towards the bar. And Cas.

When he was having nightmares about the flames licking the house, smoke burning his lungs, his Mom screaming (she was screaming 'Sammy' which seven year old Dean took as a confirmation that his Dad was right, and his dead Mom wanted his life calling to be protecting Sammy too), he could push that away because _he _was gonna save everyone.

Except he still watched his Dad die from the back seat of his favourite car, blood leaking from the gaping wound in his head, stuck in place by the crushed metal, paralysed and unable to do anything. Again. He couldn't even save Ronald Resnick, some random guy who didn't need to die.

He'd fixed up the Impala but Dad wasn't fixable and he wasn't fixable. He was broken.

"Dean," Sam says, standing up and pulling on his arm, "It wasn't your responsibility to save Dad, either."

"You know, Sammy," Dean says, "I think you've grown. Only half a millimetre, but maybe you're finally gonna get tall."

Sam drops it.

"Mom always said you'd be tall," Dean says, to fill in the expanse of silence and because the thought of Mary doesn't hurt as much as the thought of Dad, so he can talk about her sometimes. "She bought you home from the hospital and said that you'd wind up six foot, at least. Said you were a _long _baby. I thought you were some kind of joke – said I'd give you a chance if Mom _really _liked you."

"You don't talk about this stuff a lot," Sam says.

"Only cause I don't wanna embarrass you," Dean counters and then he starts to tells Jo and Cas the story about Sammy's first day of school, because he's the best brother of all time and he's the only one left to tell these awful, embarrassing stories about Sam.

"Dean," Sam cringes, "it was your fault,"

"I told Sammy about this kid who wet himself on the first day of school because he was so nervous," Dean grins, and Jo is already beaming and Cas' irritated expression has shifted into one of mild curiosity. Of course, this being Cas, hearing about their childhood is probably something else he'll be decoding and memorising for reasons that Dean isn't entirely sure of.

"Best part about it, it wasn't even true. I just wanted to wind you up."

o0o

He winds up feeling sort of hollowed out.

He figures he should be feeling good, because he spent time with Sam and told embarrassing stories and laughed with Jo and Cas and it was kind of awesome. Then, there was far too much emotional talk for him to walk away from this feeling really comfortable – he's all caught up in circles thinking about his Mom and how things might have been different, and if Dad were still alive and whether that would even be _better, _and if there was better or worse or just this endless _fight _to keep going.

"You know," Dean says, as he climbs into the passenger side of Cas' car (which still hurts, because it's a frigging terrible vehicle, but he's learnt not to complain when Cas is even slightly a bad mood because, yeah, apparently that's not polite), "that's the first time I've had a whole weekend off since I was seventeen."

He thinks he realised that somewhere in between this Friday and last night, but the thought has been pressing at him since he woke up this morning and realised he didn't actually _have _to. He hasn't had a lie in for god knows how long and he sure as hell hasn't had the luxury of being able to make pancakes for breakfast and laze around in his dressing gown _just because._

"Did you sleep?" Cas asks, turning his serious blue gaze at him. Dean had sort of figured Cas had picked up on the slips of tongue where he'd mentioned the insomnia, which is a frigging achievement when you figure out how much he works, and was only not mentioning it because he could pick up on the fact that Dean didn't want to talk about it.

"Yeah," Dean says, because he fell asleep right after Cas drove him home three AM to midday, without even making any conscious effort to do so. "But… I dunno if that's gonna happen tonight."

Honestly, he just doesn't want to be alone. Driving away from Sam when they've been talking about Mom and family just doesn't sit well in his gut. Missing Sammy sort of hurts with an aching awareness of his failure, but also the sharp panicked absence where he's supposed to be. It just all round sucks and, well, he doesn't' really trust himself on his own right now.

"So I figure we still have another episode of Star Wars," Dean says, "and I'll just kip on your sofa."

Cas just nods like he gets it, which he probably frigging does because it's Cas, and drives them both home. It doesn't even matter all that much that Cas falls asleep ten minutes into the movie (his head dropping onto Dean's shoulder and Dean just ignoring it because, well, it's his fault the guy is so tired after all), because just the growingly familiar walls of Cas' apartment is enough to curb the sharpest edges of the loneliness.

* * *

_Writer's block is the worst! And I've been having a really crappy time back at uni and Nano and everything so I'm SORRY for the long update time. The next chapter is pretty much done, but then again so was this one._

_More soon though, hopefully :)_


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